《The Fallen Ash Series》


 Chapter 1 (A Tale of Fallen Ash & War)

    <hr>


    Snap.


    I opened my eyes, dispelling the red glow of my lids; my lips parted and my mouth gaped at the golden hour¡¯s light and sweet summer air. The last glow of the day shone across the oceanic waving of the open meadow. The lush hills rolled over one another and the grass swayed in the honeysuckle-laced breeze. There, beyond the shaded line of trees and cresting the largest of the hills ahead of where I''d settled, stood a proud steed; ethereal white, as bright as a morning star. As I gazed upon it in reverent wonder, a second horse rose over the mound and met the first at its side. Its russet coat and matching mane shimmered in the sort of red that blazed like fire under the touch of the setting sun, glittering and gleaming as the wind coursed by, and this second horse indeed was as magnificent as the white one.Together, they stood, mighty and unyielding, upon that hill. Neither showed signs of startle or notice as a third horse appeared, leaner than the others but still carrying a deep muscular form, and stopped farther back. The whirl of the wind caught up the inky black hair of its thickened mane as the steed lifted its long face to smell the air as it rushed by. This horse, unlike the others, was darker than night like a silhouette come to life. It turned to look upon the two horses ahead, disrupting my view of its features, and trotted with extravagant pride to the white horse. It stopped a few steps behind, opposite where the russet horse stood, the two, russet and midnight black, exchanging a glance before turning to survey the field.


    It was rare to see one horse roaming free, but to see three was unheard of¡ªat least in the wild, anyway¡ªand even more so since the need for horses had turned from desperate to dire. I swallowed hard, heart racing, afraid to move and startle the magnificent beasts. If I could have stayed in the placidity of this place for a thousand years, basking in their majesty and the warmth of summer¡¯s midmorning, I''d likely have stayed for no other reason than to watch the horses and admire the peace of the meadow¡¯s gentle hills and the lazy long grass, drinking in the breeze without a single care. The quiet bliss that swept over me, caressing my sun-warmed skin, was not one I would soon forget.Then, as the air stilled, another horse with a sleek, long, and narrowed form, and nostrils flared above thin lips pulled back into a grin, unlike the horses before, exited the trees. All its features appeared stretched thin and long, from its ears to its legs. The upturn of its large eyes was unique from the other three, who turned to give an obligatory nod. It stood smaller, slight by comparison, from its narrow chest to its low set tail, yet this fourth horse displayed a strange sort of power emanating from its deceptive size. It stopped the farthest back, standing only high enough on the hill, outside the edge of the shadow of the trees, for the sun to touch its iridescent coat. It shone as if made of mother-of-pearl and reflected a specter of pale colors.


    There they were, the four horses on the hill.


    When the warm breeze came through again, my gaze shifted from the mighty three and transfixed on the last horse. Its mane rippled in the wind, and a strange shadow lurked behind it. The horse didn''t move or shy away when the wandering shade swept over its long face and then receded with the wind, a fleeting wisp of smoke rolling in from distant fire. I sank back on my arms, splayed wide at my sides, and kept out of sight in hopes of enjoying their peaceful peregrine a while longer. As I sank low, content in my decision to stay, a hand pressed soft and light on my shoulder. His warm breath wisped against my cheek. Startled, the deep vibration of whispered words filled my ears.


    ¡°I found you,¡± he said.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t hiding,¡± I hissed back.


    ¡°Slacking off again?¡± He chuckled as he sat down beside me. The golden light danced over his tanned skin and illuminated his olive-green eyes. Deep red hues gleamed beneath the rich auburn brown of his hair as he raked a hand through the tangle of long, loose waves.


    ¡°What do you want, Milo?" I glared at him, expecting the worst after another failed job in town when there wasn¡¯t enough work to earn enough money to keep food on the table between the two of us. It wasn''t my fault the instructions I''d received were clear as mud, and I hadn''t sorted out how to explain my less-than-reputable response to their dismissal when they were already so short-handed. They needed me, even if I didn''t know any more about bread than the taste¡ªand in my hunger-induced borderline delirium, they should have told me the unmarked sacks of flour couldn''t sit by the water basins, especially when it was the primary source of drink for their animals. I crinkled my nose and curled my lip at the thought of it, made worse by how annoyed I was that Milo would intrude, bothering me about my shortcomings and ruining such a serendipitous scene. This was my Elysium, the only paradise I knew, and he was spoiling it.Again. And for what? To remind me that we hadn''t eaten since yesterday morning, money was running out faster than we could earn it, and the choking smoke coming in had driven off what few prospects for food remained? None of that, as far as I saw it, was worth robbing me of the only peace I''d found and afforded in longer than I could remember, which was, albeit not very long, about a handful of stagnant years. "Or did you come to start another fight?¡±


    ¡°Fight you? Always,¡± he smiled, though it was faint and failed to push much more than the corner of his lips into an upward tilt.


    My bitterness faded, if only for a moment. It seemed Tristan hadn¡¯t told him about the chickens and how I hadn¡¯t locked them up the right way, and they¡¯d escaped. Again. Or what Lawrence Baiter had to say about the job I did, or didn''t, do at the mill¡ªincluding his colorful commentary on my ignorance about flour. Those were the third and fourth jobs I''d lost in two days. Milo picked at the grass as if searching for something to say and coming up empty-handed. I huffed a sigh of relief and leaned further back on my arms, staring up into the vast clear sky. At least he was honest. Milo didn''t sugarcoat the truth, and for the most part he didn''t hide it from me, either. When he was angry, I knew and he had plenty to say to make sure I understood and learned something from it. More often than not, it had to do with first aid or survival. Those were not my forte. And in his persistent silence, I was thankful for nothing else if not only that he wasn¡¯t here to have another talk, more like lecture, about being careful, not trying too hard, and keeping my head down. Stirring up trouble and falling back on the excuse of ignorance incompetence was for kids, he''d say as soon as he found out about the latest lost work, but for now, he was quiet. That was something. I¡¯d take his pointless arguments about who got to sit on the ground and who had the privilege of planting themselves on the only good chair we had left over his borderline insulting lectures any day. Besides, Milo and I rarely agreed on much of anything, and arguing was our secret language. It was the only way we understood each other, and it made me think maybe we were natural opposites from beginning to end¡ªstuck with each other, doomed to knock heads forever. It wasn¡¯t all bad, though, and by some miracle, despite how it seemed, we managed to get along fine. Most days.


    Milo¡¯s smile dimmed as he gazed out across the open meadow. The horses were nowhere in sight. ¡°I heard the Razen are closing in. It won¡¯t be long until they make it to Ternbrick, and when they do, we¡¯ll have to move. There won¡¯t be a lot of time.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± My breath caught in my chest. Ternbrick was the next town over, and there were only a few modest farms and unclaimed stretches of land between them and us. Most people from town had already evacuated and fled to other towns, or made the trek to the sanctuary city to the south if they could afford it. There were few places left to go or hide from the Razen, the deadliest army the world had ever known, unstoppable and cruel, and bent on destroying anything and everything in their path. Humanity was dwindling faster with each passing day, and the world had long since burned through bombs and warfare in the desperate campaign to stop the army of soldiers masked in gold decades ago.It was all for naught, and had reduced the world to swords and shields as the only means of defense. The ever-present orange hazy glow to the north, which grew brighter and more dusty in its sepia cloud every day, continued to drift closer. The smoke hadn¡¯t reached us by the grace of a steady wind drawing it east, yet the faint scent of burned everything put my nerves on edge. They were close. They were coming. And there was no stopping it.


    ¡°Where are we going to go? I¡¯ve heard bad things," I dared ask.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of bad out there, Ash,¡± he lifted his thumb to his lips and gnawed on the skin by the corner of the nail. His eyes narrowed into slits, and his brow furrowed, lost in contemplation. ¡°Our best bet is to get to the city. There are a lot of safe places there and the Razen haven¡¯t been able to even touch the walls yet. If we go to Kitteron or Terrance, we won¡¯t be able to stay there for very long. A lot of people have already taken refuge in both places. I don¡¯t know how they could take in any more people and still have enough supplies to go around. Food¡¯s getting scarce everywhere. Besides, there¡¯s no point in wasting our time town-hopping when we¡¯ll end up heading toward the city either way.¡±


    ¡°We could at least stop in Kitteron, and then in Bairdsville. They¡¯re so much farther south, and they have the lake; we could get all the supplies we need before we get to the city,¡± I offered.


    ¡°Our best bet is to head to Sussen.¡±


    ¡°I hate Sussen.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    I stared at the field while the sun sank low on the horizon. Cicadas rattled in the trees. The neighs and whinnies of the horses were distant now. I didn¡¯t know where they went or why they left so soon, but it was good of them to go. We should have gone with them. I hugged my knees close to my chest, a foreign, almost tight feeling like desperation twisted in my gut. I wished with every part of myself that I could catch my breath and put a name to the eager yearning crawling under my skin; for what, I didn¡¯t know. Then, with any luck, I could find the right words to convince Milo not to take us to Sussen.


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    There was nothing morally good left there. The buildings were crumbling and dilapidated, graveyards had become camping grounds, and refugees flooded the streets in makeshift tents drenched in filth and fear; but sitting high on a hill, Sussen had an advantage over anywhere else we could have gone. With the wide view, they had plenty of time for those passing through to escape and residents to evacuate if the Razen came too close. Still, for all it offered, it didn¡¯t make it safe. That much traffic and attention brought out the worst sorts of people. Criminals, traffickers, thieves. Travel light through Sussen, that¡¯s what we''d heard. Don¡¯t meet anyone¡¯s eyes and sleep in shifts.People who were afraid were quick to abandon what they believed in for the promise of better even if it was only a dream.


    However, even before the Razen made it this far east, Sussen was unpleasant. The sort of people who lived there had a habit of looking down their too-long noses at every passerby and stranger as if they sat aloft, apart and above those who had less. Then, in their self-righteous demur, they turned those long noses up so high that if it rained, they¡¯d damn near drown and grumble over the inconvenience of the weather. They¡¯d pull their coats tighter and cross the street, disapproving of what they saw. Anything unfamiliar, they didn¡¯t like; and if they didn¡¯t like it, it was too far below them to afford any dignity.The people of Sussen loathed outsiders as much as they loved themselves¡ªa love only equal to how much they loved their wealth. Generations of economic fortune built their reputation of old money and greed. Too rarely did they allow outsiders to bring in new business or inherit the ones that existed in favor of financial hoarding. It wasn''t that they thought newcomers faced nothing but the doom of failure or were incapable of success; they, contrary to any evidence to suggest their opinions were in error, viewed outsiders as lacking the necessary pedigree and legacy worth Sussen¡¯s valuable time. Reputation and worth built by the father mounted into generational wealth and passed down to the son in steadfast tradition like a gift of time only rapacity could afford.


    If it were up to me, we wouldn¡¯t go anywhere near Sussen, but Milo was right. As much as I hated it, it made the most sense to head there from where we were, north of the great lake¡ªthat was great only because it was plentiful with fish¡ªand the last viable trade post we could get to in a day and only need a day to get back from, assuming I wasn''t the cause for us to pay off debts. In my defense, it only happened twice, and it was surmisable that it was only a slight miscommunication as to whether or not I''d paid for the food... Regardless, Hattis was a popular trade post, and, no matter how I favored it over the alternative, Sussen was farther south and its walls had yet to fall to the might of the Razen. Kitteron was due south but sat to the east and would add on an entire day of travel around the lake with no promise of sanctuary. If anything we''d have to resort to following old train lines farther south to places like Dale that were more of militarized fortresses than towns, or at least that was what I''d heard. I didn''t know for sure, I''d never left home before, but I did know time was too precious to waste going in the wrong direction.


    ¡°Do you think we could make it to the city without stopping?¡± I leaned my head to rest against my arms.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Milo drawled, his accent faint and distant as though he''d lost most of it over the years. I wondered where it came from, where he''d come from, but it wasn''t worth asking. Milo wasn''t much for talking about his past. He shifted and kicked his heels into the dirt with a humph and combed his hand through his tousled hair. He¡¯d been doing that a lot lately. I figured it had something to do with the dwindling supply of water, which led to fewer baths and itchier heads, or it was nerves. Maybe both. ¡°It¡¯s not worth walking for two days straight, no breaks and a quick pace, assuming we don¡¯t have any trouble on the way, only to stand outside of a wall with no way in.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said you¡¯ve been in the city before.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but that was years ago,¡± he stared into his lap, ¡°and things were different back then.¡±


    ¡°There were cars,¡± I said. If I could remember cars the way Milo did, I would have missed that sort of thing, too; but that was so long ago, it was a wonder he had any memories of cars at all. He had to have been a little kid back then for what they''d become. I''d only seen a handful of them, shells of metal overgrown with plants or turned into shelters when the weather was bad and those traveling needed a reprieve from the rain or snow; never the sweltering heat, though. Those old cars were like ovens during the peak of summer. There was something eerie about them, ghosts of an almost forgotten past, that I didn''t like and I made a point of keeping away from them. What was gone was gone, and needed to stay that way as far as I saw it. My lips puckered as my curiosity raced down the list of all that was and wasn''t anymore. I turned my head sideways to look at him. ¡°There used to be electricity, too.¡±


    Milo chuckled. His smile was bright enough that the coming darkness seemed a little lighter. Twisting a bit of grass between his fingers, he bobbed his head. Even his eyes curved as the memories washed over him. ¡°My brother and I used to plug in Christmas lights and string them through our bunk bed. We thought our parents didn¡¯t know, and we would stay up late goofing around and making all this noise.¡± He sighed, and the corners of his lips sagged. ¡°They always knew. Of course, they always knew. We were just kids.¡±


    I said nothing. There was a strange beauty in the sadness of when he spoke about his family. It was both when he smiled most often, and when the greatest weight of the world bore down on him, and in those brief moments, I wondered what it must have been like to know him then when he''d had a family and been happier. His long lashes beat in slow blinks as he held his fascination with twisting the overgrown grass. Milo had come from somewhere west of Holzberg, a five-day journey by horse at least based on what he told me, which wasn''t much to go off; and the way he talked made me think he¡¯d traveled even farther than that alone. I never asked about his travels when he looked so forlorn when he brought it up himself and I doubted he would ever tell me or anyone else about where he''d been or what he''d seen--never mind where he went or stayed on the occasional trip to markets with Tristan. Besides, if ever the questions arose, he¡¯d roll his eyes and shrug, say it didn¡¯t matter, and change the subject before anyone could press him further about it. That place he held close to his chest didn¡¯t exist anymore, at least not the way it did before the Razen, and it wasn¡¯t as though he planned on traveling back to it anytime soon, or again, so the way Milo saw it, there was no point in talking about it.


    Milo lifted his gaze to meet mine. ¡°Anyway, we should leave before nightfall tomorrow. When they get to Ternbrick, we should already be halfway to Sussen. The more space we put between us and them, the longer we live.¡±


    ¡°How will we know when they reach Ternbrick, and why do we have to wait for them to get there?¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t know when they get there because we won¡¯t be here. If we leave too early, we end up with the starving caravans and become easy recruitment targets. If we wait, we can have a better idea of where the Razen are going and can avoid running any more than we have to, if we''re lucky. That fire¡¯s way too close, but I haven''t heard anyone talking about soldiers in the area yet, but every time I go up to the farm, the smoke damn near chokes me out now. Tristan¡¯s family is leaving Ternbrick in the morning. If it were entirely up to me, I would have had them go by now.¡± Milo sucked in a breath and straightened his back. On the exhale, his shoulders slumped forward. ¡°We should have already left by now, too.¡±


    ¡°Why doesn¡¯t anyone ever fight back against the Razen?¡± I asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s no point, they have supernatural abilities.¡± He pushed himself up onto his feet and stretched his arms and then his back. ¡°And the Razen is the least of your worries. Some people say that when they first appeared an entire army fell with the rise of a hand and nothing else. I haven¡¯t exactly seen that myself, but I saw some things. A lot of things. I wouldn¡¯t have believed it if I hadn¡¯t seen them with my own eyes... The Razen are scary, believe me, but they¡¯re only foot soldiers. I don¡¯t like to think about who and what they take orders from.¡±


    ¡°What do they want?¡± I followed his lead, taking to my feet and dusting off my lap and backside.


    ¡°In the grand scheme of things, aside from unabashed destruction? Who knows,¡± he said, ¡°and who cares? They¡¯re more powerful than any army that¡¯s ever existed. And to make matters worse, no one knows where they came from¡ªheaven, hell, or somewhere else¡ªand how their abilities work is about as much of a mystery as how any others work. The thing about them is that they''re harder to kill than your average soldier, Ash, and they''ll keep going until they''re killed. It doesn¡¯t make sense and calling it magic is a cop-out, but here they are, so it doesn¡¯t matter. The fact is, if you want to live longer, you don¡¯t ask questions and you don¡¯t go looking for answers.¡± He plopped his hand on my head and ruffled my hair. A faint smile tugged on the corner of his lips, but failed to reflect in his eyes. He was tired. So very tired.


    I looked up at the sky, the hues turning darker by the minute, all except that hateful orange glow in the distance to the north. For a short time, it seemed like there were two suns in the sky. Then there was only one light, the light of death and violence marching ever closer. That horrible army donned white uniforms like robes of antiquities and hid their faces behind shining gold masks. Despite the meager efforts of the ragtag militia, the defenders of peace, or so they called themselves, and the Resistance, the Razen ranks grew in unyielding, exponential number. With every swing of their swords and ram of their shields, more people died. Their bodies filled streets and towns. Their names became lost in the howls of agony in the slaughter. And those pristine white robes turned blood-soaked, with thick red stains splashed across them like heavy wine.I could see it in the darkest corners of my mind, haunting images of senseless killing and indiscriminate violence. While I could only conjure dreadful ideas of what it looked like, I knew some had seen it for themselves. They trembled whenever they described it, and my stomach twisted into a strange and uncomfortable knot at the thought of such brutality. No one could defend themselves from the Razen. They had to have known that. Still, some chose to fight, even when they left no survivors in their wake, if they could help it.


    I sneered to myself, ¡°There¡¯s got to be some way to stop them, to stop all the killing.¡±


    ¡°When you find the way, you let me know,¡± Milo said as he stepped around me and headed back toward the house.


    ¡°Maybe I will!¡± I turned on my toes and chased after him. ¡°Maybe I will, and I¡¯ll bring an end to all this.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s your dream.¡± He shrugged and checked over his shoulder to ensure I was following close behind. ¡°You go ahead and charge into battle, conquer this world, and bring it to its knees if that''s all you can do."


    ¡°I said I wanted to stop the Razen, not be King Arthur.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°Never.¡±


    <hr>

 Chapter 2 (A Tale of Fallen Ash & War)

    Dawn arrived overcast with the rusted hue of rising smoke and the ominous absence of birds and dogs yapping up the road, and not a single rooster crowing or cow lowing from the nearby farms. The once blue and clear sky was now sepia brown and thick, and the town had gone from few to abandoned overnight, casting an eerie silence where once it was almost lively. I tried not to breathe too deeply when I stepped out onto the porch and tried my best to peer through the morning, only to find the sun blotted out by the smoke, which had worsened by the day since it first rolled in. I knew the smell of wood-burning, of campfires, and I¡¯d become well acquainted with the pungent scent of abandoned houses catching fire, too. The smoke that filled and choked the air didn¡¯t resemble any of those. My face contorted as the sharpness of burned... everything prickled my nose and throat. Nothing smelled like this.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make that face,¡± Milo said as I returned to the kitchen and pulled the porch door shut, my face scrunched with disgust. He heaved a backpack onto the table with a heavy thud, then dropped another beside it. Water bottles he had filled the day before, warning that fires this big had a way of contaminating fresh springs and making it too dangerous to drink from without getting sick, dangled from the straps by zip ties. It wasn¡¯t practical if we ran out and needed a drink, but Milo knew a lot about surviving on his own and Tristan was adamant that we take extra precautions with our supplies. Clean water was worth more than gold in some places. Milo unzipped the first pack and peered in, satisfied with what I''d packed from the list he''d given me the night before. ¡°This has all the first aid supplies, money, and most of the toiletries.¡± His eyes met mine. ¡°You¡¯ll carry it. It¡¯s lighter.¡±


    ¡°I can carry the heavier one.¡± I went for the strap of the unopened pack.


    ¡°You can, but you¡¯re not going to.¡± He yanked the bag out of reach, slung it over his shoulder, and hooked the other arm in. With a steadying roll of his back, he shifted the weight and glared at me as if it were my fault it was so heavy in the first place. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to make stops, and if I have to carry both packs and you, we¡¯re as good as dead.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°So, what happens when you get tired? I can¡¯t carry you.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± He crossed the room to the old roll-top desk and snatched a handful of papers from the top shelf. He returned to the second pack perched on the table and crammed them in, zipping it shut, muttering, ¡°There, if something happens, now you have a couple of extra maps.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I gasped. ¡°What the hell does that mean? You think I¡¯m going to leave you behind?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°Milo.¡± I caught his arm at the elbow. He turned away, jerking his arm from my hand. I stepped closer, scouring his face for an explanation I couldn¡¯t find. ¡°Milo!¡±


    ¡°Stop it,¡± he breathed, pained and bitter. I curled away. I hated when he was so cold, and knew better than to push him. He''d seen more than I could imagine, and the threat of the fires coming across the farms and fields to the north had had him on edge for days. His jaw tightened, and he flexed his fists at his sides. He shut his eyes; his brows crumpled down as he tried to ground himself and focus on the here and now instead of all the could-be and worst-case scenarios, but it was no use. We had to be ready for the worst and hope for the best. ¡°If something happens¡­ don¡¯t wait for me. Don¡¯t go back for me, Ash.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that! You know I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    Milo¡¯s head whipped around, and his eyes quivered. Lingering beyond those gentle green hues was a sorrow he never shared of the days he¡¯d sooner forget. His nostrils flared, and the corners of his eyes turned pink and watery more from an angry frustration than any real sadness for days past. ¡°Can¡¯t you swallow your damn pride for once?¡±


    I did. Swallowing hard, I choked it down and said nothing.


    Satisfied with my silence, he scanned the messy table covered in empty tin cans from breakfast, crumpled papers and pencils we weren''t bringing with us, scraps of twine from binding supplies, and the last-minute rejections from the packs, which were mostly clothes we couldn''t afford to bring because they took up too much space. He ran a hand over his face and shifted his weight from one side to the other, his breaths coming as quick and short as his temper. He nodded and turned on his toes. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Ash.¡±


    <div>


    ***


    We didn¡¯t say another word to each other as we left the house. I stopped to lock the door but then thought better of it. My hand fell from the knob, and behind my eyes stung. The smoke irritated every membrane from my eyes to my nose and poured down my throat, the stench of it congesting my lungs, burning my chest, and strangling my hope of catching my breath with every inhale. A heavy pit fell through me. I hesitated at the door, unable to step away. My fingertips traced over the dark oak in a quiet, humble goodbye. We would not be returning, and after we were gone, there would be nothing left of this place. This had been my home. This was where I had lived. I glanced over my shoulder, turning from the house reluctantly to find Milo waiting for me. He didn''t bother to look my way, instead focusing on the road ahead leading out of town. I wondered if he felt this way when he left his home. I wondered if there was time for him to say goodbye, too. When I came back around, I decided Milo was right: it didn''t matter. The past was gone, so was his home, and mine would be too soon enough, and whether or not either of us had any sort of goodbye didn''t change anything. My hand lowered from the door, and I hustled down the porch steps and onto the walkway. Milo¡¯s tight smile was brief and fleeting, meant only as a courtesy for my quickness. He took the lead as we walked along the side of the street. I wanted to look back. Every bit of me yearned to turn back to see the house one last time, but I didn¡¯t. I kept my focus on the road ahead because, no matter how much I hated it, there was no going back, and that house was no longer home. And in a way, I wondered if it had ever been home when we would inevitably have to leave because the Razen had ventured too close.


    At the bottom of the hill after the street tapered off, there was a sharp bend, and beyond that were trees and a creek. For the most part, the creek was still clean enough to drink in the shallow places. On hot summer days, the water was warm, and wading out to my knees didn¡¯t bother me so long as the creek wasn''t infested with frogs. The frogs themselves didn''t bother me, but there was something about them I didn''t like. What that something was, I couldn''t remember, but I was sure there was something. If I waded any deeper, the water chilled, and the cold was like needles against my skin. Not even the fish liked it and stuck to the shallows. As my thoughts wandered, my pace slowed and Milo managed to keep a few steps ahead where I had to hurry to catch up. It was midday by the time we made it to the shelter of the trees where the creek broadened, but it looked like dusk; the sunlight struggled to cut through the dense smoke as it raced after us. Why did it have to smell like that¡ªscalding and sour, somewhere between a campfire and noxious fumes from a burn barrel behind the mill, and yet somehow meaty... fleshy? That heavy plume of the malodorous smoke cloud reeked and left a thick, caked rusty layer of fine, ashen debris everywhere and stained my mouth with that inescapable taste. I tugged the collar of my shirt up and covered my face to keep it out. It was the fetor of death.


    As we climbed the steep side of a hill, every breath I took was more strained than the last. The weight of the bag hanging from my shoulders was finally slowing me down more than my thoughts did. I braced myself against a tree and sucked in the burning, filthy air with a strained wheeze. It stung with each gulp and filled my lungs like putrid mud. Wiping away sticky sweat from my forehead and pushing back the strands of hair clinging to it, I stared up the hill too tired to start my march again. I took a moment longer than I would have liked to convince myself to keep moving and push my reluctant body toward another hill waiting on the other side. Tackiness from the pungent air coated my tongue. It was horrible and rancid. My chest rose and fell, slower than before. As we neared the next peak, I stopped for another quick breath, but it was as miserable as the last. I winced and pushed off the tree. My legs were sore and ached with each step. As much as I wanted a break, Sussen was still hours away. Stopping now was not an option. It didn¡¯t matter what excuse I conjured, none were good enough, and Milo would continue to ignore my complaints, as he had for hours, as he usually did. We had to press on. We had to keep ahead of the Razen.


    Milo¡¯s pace slowed at the top of the hill as I struggled several feet behind, my legs burning in frustration for the arduous climb. I craned my neck back, resting a hand on a tree to stare up at him and why he''d stopped right at the crest of the hill. His jaw fell slack and his lips parted, his face aglow in brilliant yellow and orange hues, bringing out the red undertone of his hair. His gaze focused far beyond me and where we stood on the hill. All the warm, sun-kissed colors from his face drained despite the illumination. Milo stood still and straightened, and I was sure he wasn¡¯t breathing. His eyes widened and the glossy whites reflected the bright fires behind us. My breath caught in a tight ball in my chest. I turned. An icy thrill surged through my veins. I had never imagined the flames would be so big or roar quite so loud¡ªand I had foolishly mistaken that roar to be blood rushing through my ears and fatigue buzzing in cacophonous static, but it had been neither; it was worse. The blazing waves of red, orange, and yellow licked the sky and howled like angry beasts. The billows of black smoke twisted and rolled into the murky haze where clouds should have been.


    My mouth fell open, the gape pulling my dry lips taut. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of fire.¡±


    ¡°Keep moving.¡±


    Milo¡¯s hand grasped my shoulder and tugged me back, bringing me toward the crest of the hill with him. I stared up at him, wondering why he''d bothered to come back and jerk me into attention when he could have demanded I move forward as he blazed on, but his focus had locked onto the inferno like an old friend; or worse, an old enemy he''d thought he''d outrun. He bit down hard, clenching his teeth and jaw so tight I almost felt the tension trembling in his muscles. His chest rose and fell in short, fast pants. His hand on my shoulder tightened, and the chill in my veins froze me in place. The look on Milo¡¯s face sent a violent wave of awe rolling through me. I''d never seen him look that way before, wholly panic-stricken and full of rage. The heat from the flames prickled my cheeks and the passion of an angry god blazed before us.


    Milo dropped his hold on me. ¡°Keep moving,¡± he rasped. Turning from the hell scene, his head swung from side to side, and he made a pitiful sound. It was neither a humorous scoff nor the snarky sneer I¡¯d become accustomed to hearing. No, it was a choke, a strangled whimper that would give way to a desperate cry if left unchecked.


    I looked again at the raging blaze and understood. It felt like a dark, distant dream that I knew too well. Milo told me how the Razen incinerated everything, and he''d escaped them once. He knew the torments they brought and the ruins they left in their wake, but witnessing what all that meant was far worse than his warning words alone. Even at this distance, there was no doubt in my mind¡ªthere was nothing left. Nothing. They slaughtered everyone and scorched the land. I tore my gaze away, shoving back any nightmarish thoughts of what he''d endured, and proceeded quick on my feet to catch up before he got too far ahead. My heart pounded against my chest as we continued, stifled only by the thinning of clean air. By the time I reached the top of the next hill, Milo was farther down the other side than I expected. Racing down the slope, I bounced against a tree. Then another. And then another still. My palms stung as the bark cut into them, over and over again. I was moving too fast, but I wouldn¡¯t let him leave me for dead. The Razen loomed closer than I had realized. Milo knew they were moving in for weeks. I thought we should have left then, fleeing to safety with more than half the town, but Milo insisted we stay and wait. He said we had to wait as long as possible. If we went too soon and left with everyone else, then we wouldn¡¯t survive long. He claimed the Razen watched for the larger groups escaping together and hunted them down and killed them en masse, vicious in their mercilessness. They took no prisoners and left no survivors. Charred bones and the cold embers of scorched wasteland were all that remained.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    I cringed as I hurled myself off another tree and skipped once the slope eased nearer the base of the hill. I kept my eyes on my footing as I floundered to gain traction against the loose dirt. Sliding a few steps too many, I slammed into Milo¡¯s back. He stumbled forward with a grunt, and my hands latched onto the sides of his pack. Milo looked over his shoulder at me, surprised by my fumbling. I didn¡¯t know why he would be, after all the times he¡¯d scolded me to be more careful, and then I wasn''t and he had to bandage me up and give me a lecture about staying safe and not running headlong into danger¡ªnot that I ever listened. I heard him, but he thought everything was dangerous. It wasn''t, and I could handle myself. Most of the time, anyway. I huffed, pushing away from him and dusting off. He turned back around, not bothering to acknowledge my recklessness this time.


    ¡°Careful,¡± a strange, gruff voice said, catching my attention. ¡°You don¡¯t want to go down these hills too fast. That¡¯s how you end up getting hurt. Right, Charon?¡±


    "Funny." There wasn¡¯t a trace of humor in the other man¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Come on, lighten up. How hard is it to have a little bit of humor?¡±


    ¡°Well, Alin, when it¡¯s at my expense, it¡¯s hard,¡± he chided.


    I leaned around Milo. The one man shook his head with a half-cocked smile, and I figured this was Alin, with the way he disregarded the other man¡¯s poor disposition. A hatchet hung fastened to his belt, and a large hammer dangled from a leather sling on the opposite side. His hands, blackened with dirt and soot, rested at his waist. The other, I assumed was Charon, was tall and slender. He wrung his wrist and scowled at the crackling of the joint with each rotation. Bloodied scratches and smears of dirt trailed up the backs of his hands to his elbows. They were already red and swollen along the edges. The cuts and debris along the left side of his face were fresh, too. Charon lifted his eyes and met mine. His mouth opened to say something, but Alin interrupted before he had the chance.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.¡± He chortled and clapped a heavy hand on Charon¡¯s narrow shoulder. ¡°What brings you two this far out in the hills?¡±


    Milo answered, ¡°The Razen.¡± He motioned with his chin. ¡°They¡¯ve reached Ternbrick.¡±


    ¡°Ternbrick? Already?¡± Alin frowned. He ran his hand over his face and glanced down along the winding valley. ¡°Damn, I thought we¡¯d have more time.¡±


    ¡°We have time,¡± Charon said, portraying the epitome of calm. His slate-blue eyes jumped between Milo and me, tightening as he scrutinized us. ¡°Are you two from Ternbrick?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Milo said, ¡°but we were close enough to know that we had to leave.¡±


    Charon¡¯s critical stare stayed on us, though he said nothing more.


    Alin hauled his belt up, jangling the tools attached to it. He cleared his throat. ¡°Then I guess we don¡¯t have much of a choice. Time to move on.¡±


    ¡°Where are you headed?¡± Charon¡¯s cold, pale eyes fixed on me.


    ¡°Sussen,¡± I blurted, startling Milo as much as myself.


    Charon blinked and shifted his attention to Alin. ¡°We¡¯ll have plenty of extra space in the wagon. We could give them a ride.¡±


    ¡°And go to Sussen?¡± Alin¡¯s lip curled back in disgust. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°We could pay you,¡± I offered. The ache in my legs and the burning of my hands outweighed my concern for money. Milo needed a break, too. He wouldn¡¯t acknowledge it, but it was true. The sweat beading along his temple was proof enough. He shot me a small, subtle glance of objection. I rolled my eyes and stepped forward, meeting at his side and rubbing my thumb over my raw palm. ¡°You don¡¯t have to take us into Sussen. You can drop us off nearby. We¡¯ll pay for that much.¡±


    Alin gnawed his lower lip and sucked his teeth. He bounced his head from side to side, mulling over his options. ¡°Alright. Look, we could use the help to load up. Help us with that and you can consider the ride paid for. We¡¯ll drop you off east of Sussen. Do we have a deal?¡±


    ¡°East?¡± Charon¡¯s brow raised.


    ¡°We¡¯re not stopping in Sussen.¡± Alin¡¯s words were firm, matching his stern gaze.


    Charon folded his arms over his chest and spoke through clenched teeth as if they''d had this discussion too many times before. ¡°Ternbrick is northwest¡ª"


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a damn where the Razen army is, Sussen is an overcrowded sitting duck. They¡¯re attracting too much attention. It¡¯s a matter of time before they either implode or those hell beasts out there come for them,¡± Alin said.


    ¡°They might be an obvious target, but they have supplies,¡± Milo interjected. ¡°We¡¯re meeting a friend there who can get us passes into the city. There are not a lot of other places to go where you can get them. And there¡¯s a train from Sussen to the Underground.¡±


    A train? Passes? This was the first I¡¯d heard of it. When was that decided? Sure, Tristan and Milo met the night before, but all they did was stand outside on the porch, talking for hours, lamenting about how there weren¡¯t enough horses for Milo and me, how it would take us three times longer by foot than for him and his family by horse. I cleaned up our meager dinner and worked on finding everything on the list Milo made for me with the itching feeling it was meant more for a distraction than it was for necessity. The list, as it was, was an inventory of supplies for our backpacks in the morning. At the time, I knew their meeting was about traveling to Sussen and then to the city. I didn¡¯t care about the fine details and figured they were planning where and how to meet up later. Sure, I overheard bits and pieces and caught glimpses of letters and papers shuffled between them, but I didn¡¯t think anything of it any more than the number of maps to cram into our rucksacks. All the while I was running around the house, they talked about different routes and how long it would take to make it through the hills. At one point, Tristan mentioned how the Razen weren¡¯t the only dangerous thing out there. Milo had quickly agreed, and I thought they were both worrying too much about things they couldn¡¯t change. Still, as my face scrunched up at Milo, I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of when they¡¯d made plans for a train. I¡¯d never even seen one in operation as far as I could remember.


    ¡°Why is she staring at you like that?¡± Charon asked, interrupting my racing thoughts.


    ¡°What?¡± Milo looked back at me, gave an exasperated sigh, and then turned back around. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. She always looks like that.¡±


    ¡°Confused?¡± The corners of his lips turned up in a faint smirk. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know better, I would think you kidnapped her.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Alin slapped a heavy hand against his back, knocking him forward and nearly off balance. ¡°Kidnapped? She¡¯s scared! And who wouldn¡¯t be? With that fire raging like it¡¯s been, finding clean water is almost as hard as finding clean air at this point. Right, Mitchell?¡±


    ¡°Milo,¡± he corrected.


    Alin waved a hand. ¡°The fact is: I wouldn''t go to Sussen when there are better choices farther south, not even for all the supplies in the world at this point. Or sales,¡± he nudged Charon with a hearty smile and a low chuckle. ¡°They have a target on them, the perfect place for the Razen to make another example of, and I don''t want to be in the middle of that again. Besides, I have to follow the demand of people who actually want to live if I¡¯m going to unload all my supplies¡ªlighten my load. They need swords, knives, daggers¡ªfighting materials¡ªnot the cozy comforts of squatting in some barricaded town with walls asking to come down. You¡¯ll live longer if you¡¯re willing to put up a good fight, if you ask me, and that''s not just because I''m selling the weapons you need.¡±


    ¡°Or die faster if you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing,¡± Charon said with a shrug of indifference.


    ¡°Such a pessimist when you don''t get your morning coffee,¡± Alin shook his head. ¡°Like I said, we can drop you off east of Sussen if you¡¯re willing to do a little work for the ride. Who knows, you might get there early and have to wait for the train you¡¯re looking to catch.¡±


    ¡°The passes are good until you use them,¡± Milo said firmly, his jaw chewing in a circle of impatience as the fires crept closer by the second.


    ¡°What train, Milo?¡± I hissed, leaning close to his side and tugging at his sleeve, earning only a knock back from his elbow. Why didn¡¯t he ever tell me what he was planning, as if it were some secret I wasn''t meant to know about? He didn¡¯t trust me. I knew that, and it was for a good reason. Every time he relied on me to keep my mouth shut about how much money we had when we went to get food, or hold a job for more than a few days, I failed him. My zealousness ran away with me, and before we knew it, we were flat-broke and hungry again. Maybe that was why he didn¡¯t tell me about the train.


    ¡°So, do we have a deal, Max?¡± Alin held out his hand.


    Milo looked down at his open palm, his face screwing in thought about whether or not it was worth it to correct him again. With a deep, labored sigh, he took his hand and shook. ¡°Sure, we¡¯ll help you pack up for the ride.¡±


    ¡°And we¡¯ll take you straight into Sussen,¡± Charon added coyly, though his gaze slid from Milo to me, and his head cocked as if both fascinated and dangerously curious about why I was clinging to Milo like a lost child.


    ¡°We¡¯re not going to Sussen!¡± Alin boomed, turning to his companion, his cheeks rosy with frustration.


    He and Charon continued arguing about where they were going after passing Sussen, and whether or not they¡¯d stop there at all. Charon was sure they would, and should, and Alin was dead set they wouldn''t, no matter what potential anyone claimed it had on the basis of being an easy target and he didn¡¯t want to be in the middle of the madness when it inevitably descended. Milo remained stiff beside me, and I found myself transfixed on Charon. There was something about him that drew me in. I couldn¡¯t put my finger on it, but he was out of place somehow. I watched his deathly-still gaze as he debated the merits of passing or staying in Sussen, like a snake luring its prey into its nest. However, he was no snake, if anything, he was a man built to give off an intimidating air. Charon was notably taller than Milo, who already towered over me. His whole form was slim, and he had sharp, broad shoulders, giving his upper body a triangular shape. Though he wasn¡¯t gaunt, his face was tight and angular, and his tired eyes were like those of a man too busy to sleep, who¡¯d seen lifetimes and yet they were little more than distant dreams. He kept his pale ashy blond hair swept to the side and tucked behind his ear. Still, there was something about him that was peculiar, as if he didn¡¯t fit. Unlike Alin, his hands were spotless, as though he¡¯d never worked a day in his life. His loose-fitted shirt was neat and unwrinkled. Even his pants had straight pressed lines. With a dramatic and dismissive wave of his hand, the muscles of his forearms flexed, then relaxed as he folded it over the other arm again, settling on his opinion. He remained unwavering, despite anyone else¡¯s input.


    Milo watched Charon with the same careful caution that I did, and that made me uneasy. Normally, he was the sort of person who was comfortable making small talk with anyone. He became fast friends with Tristan and the dozen or more people who stayed in town for as long as we did. Every part of him, though, was tense as he stared¡ªglared¡ªin Charon¡¯s direction. The fine hairs on the back of my arms stood on end. It was like staring into the mouth of a swarming viper''s den, waiting to see if we¡¯d get pushed in.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get you to Sussen,¡± Charon declared at last. ¡°You don¡¯t want to be out after dark, anyway. There are wolves, and they¡¯re hungry.¡±

 Chapter 3 (A Tale of Fallen Ash & War)

    We followed Alin and Charon back to the forge and its accompanying house, tucked between the rolling hills. Fortunately, loading the wagon was easy enough. They had kept most of the boxes stored in a shed, already packed and labeled. Alin said it was because he planned to take them to sell soon. The forge tools, he collected into a series of metal boxes with padlocks on the lids. It was interesting to watch him lock up the tools how he did. Each box possessed identical locks and used the same key. All except one. The smallest box was unassuming, but different from the others. Alin was careful not to reveal what the key looked like, not even to Charon as he came through the room for more boxes. This special box contained the precious alloy he laced into all his weapons. It was one of the very few things that could kill the Razen. He needed little of it to make a powerful weapon. But it was both expensive and scarce unless you knew where to find it. He chuckled and dropped the key into his pocket. Picking up the box, he gave a nod and secured it in the wagon¡¯s front. All these things were precious to him and likely far too expensive to replace.


    Neither Alin nor Charon gave the house or ramshackle forge a second look as we prepared to leave. I climbed into the back of the stained wood wagon while Milo sat in the front beside Alin. I pulled off my backpack, set it by my side, and hauled my knees to my chest. Riding to Sussen cut the travel time down significantly, but there was still a long way to go. I watched Charon fasten the locks on the rear of the wagon. He was stronger than he appeared at first glance. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the muscles of his back pulled taut as he yanked the locks in place and slammed the hammers down. Running his fingers over the latches, he nodded with satisfaction. He called to Alin that everything was secure and sat beside me. Shoulder to shoulder, he was at least an entire head taller than me. He wiped his hands down with a clean, damp rag despite no visible dirt. I glanced at him, not wanting to make any sort of direct eye contact but curious nevertheless as he tossed the rag away. Something about him made my skin crawl and itch as I watched him drag my bag aside and position it in front of our feet. His hand lingered on the handle, his head tilted a bit to the right, eyebrows knitting down as though confused and then lifting in surprise. Releasing his hold on my backpack, he settled back down and slid himself against the wood. He sat close enough I smelled a light aroma drifting from him, a bit like lilacs and soldered metal.


    He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief as the horse pulled forward and the wagon¡¯s wheels turned over with rusted squeals. The snap of the reins and the groaning of the old wood and worn metal framing was loud in the silence hovering between us. Charon¡¯s almost calloused demeanor made it seem as if I was expecting something more from him. Despite this, I felt strangely comfortable sitting beside him. Even if we didn¡¯t say a word to each other, I thought he wasn¡¯t as intimidating as he came across. There was something about him¡­


    Alin laughed, full and hearty, as he explained his strange residency in the woods. ¡°Blacksmithing requires space, and plenty of it, especially when you¡¯re working with the sort of material I am. It likes to chip if you¡¯re not careful, and you¡¯ll accidentally burn down half a town!¡± He hummed to himself at what I could only assume was an unfortunate memory of a past mistake. ¡°It¡¯s a good life, though, for a loner like myself. You don¡¯t get bothered by too many people. See, it actually started as a hobby back in my younger days, back when it was a novelty. People came to fairs and thought it was something special to see me working my ass off, sweating in the heat for their entertainment. It was special, I just didn¡¯t know it then. Of course, after the bombs... after everything went poof and the world started burning, it became more of a lifestyle than a side job. People needed specialized weapons to deal with the Razen as soon as they came knocking.


    "Now, if you look out there, see that ridge on the other side of that rise? Right there, the one sticking out like it got blown all to hell with some dynamite for mining or something. It¡¯s a shame we have to abandon the area, I¡¯ll tell you what, that place is one hell of a fine cache of precious metals and minerals,¡± he explained as he knocked his boot against the box he¡¯d tucked under the front seat. ¡°They¡¯re hard to find, and it was fortuitous that I found it in the first place because that¡¯s just what I needed for the best damn weapons around. They don¡¯t break, and they¡¯ll cut through Razen like a hot knife in butter. And, the way I see it, the closer the Razen march, the more weapons I can sell. That¡¯s the benefit of being one of the few blacksmiths in the area able to make these types of things¡ªdark blades, that¡¯s what everyone¡¯s calling them these days. Sure, standard iron works well enough, it slowed them down out west for a while, but it didn¡¯t stop them. See, I¡¯ve found only this one special compound can truly kill them with any sort of ease. And I¡¯d know! People keep coming back for more telling me all about it. Hundreds of them!¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t hundreds,¡± Charon corrected.


    Alin paused, glancing back at him with a glower. ¡°I could have been.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, where was I, Mason?¡± he asked, but didn¡¯t wait for Milo to answer. ¡°Oh! Right, killing Razen! Now, back when I started all this, I used to think it was the silver, which I¡¯d added as a personal touch to make my wares shine at events back when, and to tell you the truth, I still think the silver does it for some of those beasts they have at their disposal. Real animals, if you ask me, but the funny part about it is how they wear those masks. All of them have them, gold or silver, to delineate between who is who and what is what. It¡¯s one hell of a good tactic.¡± Alin turned to Milo with an excited, toothy grin. ¡°What better way to shield yourself than with the very thing that can kill you? The Vipers; they''re the deadliest and they''ve never worn anything but silver. Smart choice, since you¡¯re asking.¡±


    We kept quiet as he droned on, unaware we¡¯d stopped listening right about the time he got to his opinions on the rumors that the Vipers were people who could turn into massive, deadly snakes. That was ridiculous and made up to scare people, even I knew that. I picked at my fingers, trying to imagine what it was like to fight the Razen for myself. Aside from a few metals, there weren¡¯t many other things that could kill them. They were, as far as most people saw it, as close to immortal as a person could be without selling their soul to some god and binding themselves into an eternity of servitude. Alin couldn¡¯t care less about what people thought the Razen were, or were not, and maybe there was no point to it. They were a lethal force and no one had yet stopped them, not even the Resistance who¡¯d been fighting tirelessly to slow their advances and buy humanity even a little time. Alin seemed only to care about those willing to fight because he made a healthy living from it.


    ¡°Then, a few years ago, they started to slow down; you remember that?¡± he called back to Charon. ¡°Back a few years when they changed course, things were different, weren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I assure you, I remember,¡± he said with a sigh, evidentially listening about as much as I had been for the better part of an hour.


    ¡°See, he remembers. The demand for these things went through the roof! I was drowning in orders; I couldn¡¯t keep up with it all. And wouldn¡¯t you know that luck was on my side that year? Right about the time I had worked myself to my bones, the weather took a turn for the worse and I had to call it an early night. You should have seen it. The wind was howling every which way, the trees snapping and cracking like they were going to come down. Some of them did, it made one hell of a mess, but I can¡¯t complain about free firewood. Anyway, I was sitting there having a hot dinner on what was the worst part of the winter in the middle of a blustering snowstorm that didn¡¯t know when to quit, when a certain somebody came knocking. It took me by surprise when I opened the door and saw him there. What sort of idiot, I thought at the time,¡± he amended with a wag of his finger, ¡°goes out in some thin linen shirt and pants, ill-fitted boots with short laces, and thinks he¡¯s going to withstand Mother Nature¡¯s fury? I could have sent him away, thought he was a lunatic, but who am I to turn away a wet dog in December?¡±


    Charon sneered and shook his head in discontent.


    ¡°I took him that night. And I swear, to this day, that was the coldest, harshest winter to date, and I¡¯ve seen a lot of them. Anyway, I gave him some of my old clothes, the ones before I filled out,¡± he chuckled, slapping his gut, ¡°and even though it made him look like a scarecrow, the way they hung off him, he was at least dry. Turning him away would have been abhorrent of me, and you¡¯d think by the way he scowls he¡¯s not grateful for anything, but I knew he was by the way he ate the second I set some food in front of him. He¡¯s good for conversation once he warms up to you, and we talked for the better part of the night, as I recall it, about almost everything. The weather, the food, weapons, the Razen. All of it. I called it an early night and set him up in the guest room and didn¡¯t think twice about him by the time I put my head down. Then, I¡¯m sure you can imagine my surprise when he wasn¡¯t anywhere to be found first thing in the morning. Or at least, that¡¯s what I thought. Tell them where you were when I found you,¡± he called over his shoulder.


    ¡°Outside,¡± Charon looked at me, a smile sliding easy over his lips as he looked me over for what felt like the hundredth time, almost as if I were some strange puzzle he was trying to work out. ¡°I took a liking to a few of his wares and decided to test them out for myself.¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°A few? I had a whole collection of swords and daggers, blades from all over the world from all sorts of eras; and he was out there in the front, swinging them around right before dawn like some kind of master. I¡¯ve never seen anyone flow with a blade quite like it, like he¡¯d spent lifetimes mastering every step. Looking at him, he¡¯d think he¡¯s never held a single weapon in his life, so seeing all of that was a little more than peculiar, if you follow me. Hell, look at him now. You wouldn¡¯t think he¡¯s any sort of weapons expert with delicate hands like his, would you? I¡¯ve never even seen a single callus anywhere.¡± Alin whistles, as if in disbelief of his allegation. ¡°But he¡¯s a hard worker and a better fighter, that¡¯s why I keep him around. Oh! And his pretty face,¡± Alin said as his loud laugh echoed against the valley, ¡°showed not a single sign of combat. No scars, no marks, nothing. That¡¯s how I knew for sure I had to keep him around. A good face is good for sales.¡±


    Here is the corrected sentence: "Pretty enough to make a pretty penny,¡± Charon said, reciting what Alin had said about him too many times before, and tipped his head back, prepared for what more the blacksmith had to say. I wanted to ask why he stayed with him if he didn¡¯t seem to like him much, but from the way his shoulders sank as Alin went on, I realized it wasn¡¯t that he disliked him; it was just his demeanor. He was guarded, and who could blame him? Whatever set him out in a snowstorm must have been terrible, and if I had to venture to guess, it had to do with the Razen. Everything bad that happened always came back to them.


    ¡°Oh, you should have heard the way he apologized as soon as he realized I¡¯d caught him. ¡®I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be up,¡¯ and ¡®I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯ll put them back where I found them,¡¯ and all that.¡± Alin leaned over toward Milo. ¡°He¡¯s got a proclivity for old classics. You know the ones, handsome, well-crafted, the finer reminders of the old days. Don¡¯t get me wrong, it was flattering that he recognized them and chose them for himself, but antiques like that aren¡¯t replaceable these days. Of course, who am I to deny a man a beautiful blade? That¡¯s like¡ªwell, that¡¯s like turning him away in a snowstorm! So, out of consideration, of course, I let him have one. It¡¯s an elegant little thing. A dagger. It¡¯s got this pale, opal handle and long, thin blade. It¡¯s good for a quick stab and jab. He keeps it in boot.¡±


    Charon reached down, turned his foot, and patted at his ankle, his eyes meeting mine only long enough to assure me he was practiced in quick retrieval. A shiver ran down my spine. I hadn¡¯t for a moment considered either to be armed. Alin carried on, talking almost entirely to himself as he mused about that morning and how he inquired about Charon¡¯s training. He asked where he learned, and who taught him so much about such diverse weapons. Charon only laughed in response, never divulging the details. I didn¡¯t think he could laugh by the way his absent stare seemed fixed on the distance out of the back of the wagon the longer Alin¡¯s story dragged on. He hardly moved from where he sat beside me, except for the bobbing of bumps along the way. From time to time, I thought he fell asleep, but then he¡¯d shoot me a quick glance and hum softly to himself the way Milo did when he was thinking about something, usually something I was hiding. Inevitably, he worked it out, and that ended up being a problem later, but until he did he¡¯d give me a side eye and short hum and nothing else.


    Alin¡¯s lamentation of trying to pry information out of Charon turned into nostalgia over how long ago those days were and how much had changed since. ¡°Those people in Sussen, if they knew what was good for them, they¡¯d know they need weapons. They need my weapons.¡± Alin chuckled in a strange amusement about the reality of imminent danger lurking on the other side of the hills, engulfed in flames. ¡°Come to think of it, a stop in Sussen could have its perks. With any luck, we could make a real fortune and unload a great deal of stock, too. Besides, that train from Sussen to the Underground needs all the protection it could get. If the Razen ever find out about it, they¡¯ll invade the city before anyone can escape.¡±


    ¡°Who''s to say they don¡¯t already know?¡± Charon¡¯s eyes shut, exhausted by the constant stream of consciousness.


    ¡°If they do, they¡¯ve yet to prove it. I¡¯ve seen what they can do. They would turn that town inside out and let the blood flow down the streets until the rivers ran red. They don¡¯t need a place like that, but it would stop a lot of people from escaping,¡± Alin said, gruff and certain as he snapped the horses¡¯ reins to pull a little faster up the hill.


    Charon scoffed and shook his head. I glanced at him, and the look on his face confirmed he¡¯d seen his fair share of horrors. As it was, Charon was more than just something of a salesman for Alin. He was a refuge like so many others, displaced and lost and trying to find his way. It made sense to me why Alin insisted on keeping him close. There was something about Charon that was effortlessly charismatic, like he¡¯d been groomed and polished to know exactly what to say and when. Alin claimed he had a talent for knowing what people wanted to hear with the same ease as handling the weapons they sold. ¡°He could kill a crowd with his words almost as fast as with a sword, I¡¯ll tell you that!¡± Alin boomed, proud of his partner. ¡°He¡¯s one smooth devil, and the best partner I¡¯ve ever had; never complains about anything, except the coffee!¡±


    I laughed under my breath. Nothing about Charon seemed that easygoing. He looked over, and I felt his curious, judgmental gaze on me. I dared to look at him. I dared to meet those cold eyes. He tilted his head to one side. The ashy blond hair that he had tucked behind his ear fell loose and scattered over his forehead. He looked better that way, not as bitter or rigid.


    He hummed to himself as he had before, looking me up and down, and spoke with a hint of amusement, ¡°Are you scared?¡±


    ¡°Of what?¡± Of you? Maybe...


    ¡°The Razen.¡± He pointed out of the back. The wagon bounced over the rocky terrain as we left behind the ever-present orange glow of flames and dark smoke filling the sky. ¡°You saw the fires, didn¡¯t you? Impressive, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°I did. And I wouldn¡¯t say it¡¯s impressive.¡± I lowered my head to rest against my arms, dragging my knees even closer to my chest, and thought of the horses I had seen the day before, wondering if they were far from the fires. I hoped they were, anyway. They could outrun the blaze, but if the Razen caught them¡­


    ¡°So, are you scared?¡± he asked again.


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not scared of the Razen.¡±


    The corners of his lips twitched up in a smile, like suppressed laughter. ¡°You should be scared.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not.¡±


    Charon quieted as if holding back something more he wanted to say. He stared at the boxes for a long moment, then tipped his head back with a broad smile. ¡°You¡¯ve never seen them up close, have you?¡±


    ¡°I saw enough.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡± His hand rubbed at the center of his chest. ¡°You don¡¯t care to know what they¡¯re like? What they are under those gold masks?¡±


    I turned to face him. My wide eyes traced over the sharp, narrow features of his face. He wasn¡¯t bad-looking when he smiled. I could see what Alin meant when he said he had a pretty face. He was charming when he wanted to be and intimidating the rest of the time. Charon turned his gaze in a languid blink, and his eyes met mine. It was hypnotic. Those silver-blue eyes drew me in like a mouse to a snake, a moth to a flame. My chest went tight. Constricted. I squeezed my knees harder and swallowed against my dry palate. ¡°Why would I?¡±


    He snorted and dropped his head, suppressing a peal of low laughter. The tension in my shoulders released. My chest unlocked. Each breath was short and rapid. My breathing had halted when his eyes locked with mine. That was strange.


    Charon shrugged. ¡°I thought, since you¡¯re not scared, then that means you¡¯re curious.¡±


    ¡°Curious about dying?¡± I shot him a glare.


    ¡°Who said you¡¯d die?¡± He folded his arms over his chest. "Maybe, you would be free. The tether between you and this world would get cut, and off you¡¯d go into eternity.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a fancy way of saying they¡¯d kill me.¡±


    He smirked. ¡°Is it?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Alin said from the front of the wagon. His voice was a hard, stern warning.


    Charon clicked his tongue and tossed his head, casting the fallen hair from his face. Our conversation was over. Charon chuckled to himself as he settled in against the back wall. We sat in silence and listened to the clop of the horse¡¯s feet and the churn of the wheels. For several tense and uncomfortable minutes, no one spoke. Milo¡¯s quiet voice broke the silence as he commented to Alin about the trail, the forest, and the fire. Alin shared his thoughts on each, and then the bitter silence returned.


    Charon¡¯s words swam in my stomach. I¡¯d never seen the Razen for myself, and it sounded as if he had, and he knew exactly what they were. I wondered what sort of hell he¡¯d seen and what nightmare he lived. While the fires were terrifying, Milo and I didn¡¯t stick around long enough to stare down the enemy. If I looked into the eyes of a Razen soldier, I wondered what I would see. What sort of person would choose to join their ranks? Who would want to don those white robes and silver armor? Who would want to put on those gold masks and raise swords and spears against the helpless? And why would anyone want to hide behind shields all in the name of blood-spilling conquest and war? I wondered if there was light in their eyes or if their souls were as dark and damned as their deeds. All who crossed their path fell victim to their ruthless blades and strange abilities. Those who survived to tell the tale escaped and lived on borrowed time, but they were never truly free. Nightmares of the things they¡¯d seen haunted them, and they knew one day they wouldn¡¯t escape. Yet, true as that was, as I sat in the back of the wagon, I couldn¡¯t help but think Charon was right.


    I should be scared.

 Chapter 4 (A Tale of Fallen Ash & War)

    Sussen was a town on a hill with walls like a castle, built of gray and brownish stone blocks weathered by time and the battery of those who tried to scale it when they failed to gain entry. They were visible long before we reached the end of the wide, overcrowded road leading to the gates, and they were so high I needed to lean my head back the closer we came to it to see the top. Charon twisted around and leaned over the side of the wagon, his mouth open and his eyes round as he, too, awed at the sight. He said he¡¯d never been in Sussen before. There was never a good reason to stop, and too often he headed in a different direction with more important things to do. I assured him that he wasn¡¯t missing out. Despite the impressive walls, the town was miserable and had a long history of sucking both life and hope for a better future out of anyone who ventured in and thought otherwise. Milo and Alin were quick to agree, adding their personal gripes about the homeless sectors and the vast wealth of the long-standing residents who¡¯d inherited their little plots of land and houses they hadn¡¯t worked a day to earn. I, like Charon, had nothing to add on the matter and gazed, bewildered, at the enormity of the fortress of a town. Gray-clad sentries stood guard between battlements along the top of the outermost wall. Below their stay was a long row of narrow slits a few feet apart, none big enough to be a proper window.


    ¡°They have archers,¡± Charon mused aloud, gesturing to the thin spaces. ¡°I doubt they¡¯ll ever need them.¡±


    ¡°They might,¡± I said, breathlessly.


    ¡°Do you think so?¡± He turned my way, but when I didn¡¯t answer, he returned to the same slack-jawed wonder I had, taking in the ominous sight. Charon settled back into the wagon as the procession moved faster than I¡¯d expected to a busy checkpoint outside the walls.


    Uniformed guards saturated the areas ahead of the gatehouses of the massive front wall where the iron gate hung open by coils of thick, dark chains for those arriving through the only entry point into Sussen. Flames danced in giant bowls, at the tops of torches, at the corners of the towers, and in ornate baskets fastened to the walls like cages of fire. Long banners of pine green and sunflower yellow flapped in the breeze. The last time I came to Sussen was more than a year ago. It wasn¡¯t as armed as it was now; it had become a citadel. They knew how close the Razen were and the threat they posed. Not even the people of Sussen feigned immunity to the wickedness that marched over the world. The threat was ever-present.


    A guard held up his hand and approached the front of the wagon. Alin was all courteous and polite as the guard asked for papers. He handed over a thick wad of documents, partially crumpled and creased by haphazard folds. The guard opened them and turned them around and right side up. Alin glanced at Milo, who stiffened as he looked between Alin and the guard. Charon remained quiet and tense beside me. The guard took a step back and examined us, the wagon, and then us again. He clicked his tongue and pulled a pen from his evergreen uniform jacket. He asked in a soft voice, ¡°How¡¯s business faring? I heard there was a big event out toward Bairdsville a few weeks ago.¡±


    ¡°Business is booming,¡± Alin offered. "I had to bring some help this time, but I guess you can blame it on my old bones. I¡¯m not lifting crates like I used to, but that¡¯s what the help is for, am I right?¡±


    The guard looked up; a flicker of an amused smile came across his face as he paced, examining the wagon, the horses, and us again. ¡°Four of you, then? How long are you planning to stay?¡±


    ¡°I heard there¡¯s a trade caravan going on...¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    "Few days at most, unloading the last of what didn¡¯t sell.¡±


    ¡°Five days,¡± the guard said, not as a question but as an affirmation of what he¡¯d jotted on his papers. ¡°That should be enough time to settle in, register, sell, and pack up.¡±


    ¡°Merchant¡¯s week,¡± Alin bobbed his head and ran a hand over his face. ¡°Any way I can get that extended to a full week?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± the guard replied, scribbling a signature. ¡°Merchant passes have been on a quick rotation lately. The demand has been up since the Razen took a sharp eastern turn. We¡¯ve seen a real influx of fur and tanners. It''s good to have a blacksmith joining us for a change. Do you sharpen?¡±


    ¡°At a price, but for you I¡¯ll make an exception,¡± Alin laughed, ¡°after all you¡¯re signing us in!¡±


    ¡°Appreciated,¡± he smiled, holding his clipboard in place for a moment, admiring the generosity. ¡°Anyway, when you head in, follow the signs for the Merchant¡¯s Corner. There¡¯s a set up near the front where they¡¯ll take your papers and get you registered with your ID and Merchant Cards. The cafe by the station offers a free cup of Joe to all registered Merchants with a card¡ªand between you and me, if you want a good cup, make sure you ask for Yasmin. Anyway, they¡¯ll get you set up with a packet of information about how to use your cards after you pick your lot and settle in.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate the advice,¡± Alin twisted back. ¡°You hear that? Free coffee.¡±


    ¡°I heard,¡± Charon replied, less enthused than expected.


    ¡°He¡¯s cranky from the ride,¡± Alin said to the guard.


    ¡°You traveled far?¡±


    ¡°A couple of hours, not too bad, but we''ve had a long morning prepping to come.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± the guard said, bobbing his head as if he¡¯d heard that same sentiment a thousand times before. ¡°Anyway, good luck with your sales, and welcome to Sussen.¡± He handed the papers back, stepped aside, and waved us on to continue through the immense gates.


    Charon breathed out, leaning his head against the wagon and staring up at the sky. Relief filled his face as a grin tugged at his lips. Milo slung an arm over the back of his seat. He craned his neck to bring his chin over his shoulder to address me. ¡°It looks like they¡¯re cracking down on the sort of people they let in. Everyone¡¯s getting checked for papers this time.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be too careful,¡± Charon quipped. Milo glanced at him but didn¡¯t give him the satisfaction of a reply. He looked at me, ignoring the sardonic man at my side, and breathed out a sigh before shaking his head and turning back around. Charon continued despite the dismissal. ¡°You don¡¯t want the wrong sort of people coming in and ruining a good thing.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re refugees.¡± The word was sour on my tongue. ¡°They would have let us in.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. His slate-blue eyes sparkled with amusement at my declaration. ¡°Is that what you are?¡±


    I snorted and turned my attention to the crowds filling in around us. They were loud and busy, and everyone was doing something. They moved like waves of water, colors of clothes and skin blended into a vibrant blur as thousands of people pushed through one another, crammed together inside the walls. Shoulder to shoulder, there wasn¡¯t enough room for a sneeze near the front gate, yet the savory scent of roasting pig, baked bread, and coffee wafted through the masses with ease. As the wagon slowed, the wail of a baby and a barking dog caught my attention. I hadn¡¯t heard those sounds in years. Farther into town, our pace quickened, people dispersing to their designated places. Skeleton towers of scaffolding scaled many of the buildings. Children of all ages ran unattended in the streets, carefree and laughing. Some facades were bright with fresh paint and signs, while others were in familiar disrepair with long tendril vines creeping over old bricks and around dirty windows. Alin took a left at the town square following the signage as instructed. A long banner, strung between buildings, swayed back and forth on tight yellow ropes. Tall red lettering on a faded blue background designated the open field of the park as an area for merchants. Caravans of crafters and tradesmen packed the far corner of town. I folded my arms over the side of the wagon, watching row after row of makeshift stalls pass as we pulled through the park.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find an empty lot and set up there. Hmm, looks like lot 565 is open, down near the end,¡± Alin said to no one in particular. ¡°Miche, Ash, you¡¯re more than welcome to stay with us as long as you need. I know you have that friend you¡¯re looking for, Tucker. That¡¯s his name, right?¡±


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Milo corrected incredulously, yet not bothering to issue a correction on his own name. ¡°Tristan Cooper. His family used to come here to sell produce from the farm regularly when they could afford it. It shouldn¡¯t be too hard to find him.¡± He rubbed at the back of his neck. ¡°Do you remember that, Ash? He talked about it every time he dropped off food on the way.¡±


    I shrugged. I remembered almost nothing about it. He talked to Milo more than he ever did to me. Most of the time, he offered little more than a friendly nod or wave as he and Milo exchanged boxes of produce for handfuls of letters. I couldn¡¯t conjure up a single memory of him saying anything in particular about the market, though, and I didn¡¯t deign to pretend that I did.


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    ¡°Well, if they used to come and sell here on a regular basis, then someone probably knows him. It¡¯s just a matter of knowing who to ask. Not exactly like finding a piece of hay in a needle stack, that¡¯s for sure.¡± Alin cackled. ¡°If I hear anything, I¡¯ll let you know.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± Milo said, sounding grateful. I lifted an eyebrow in his direction, but he didn¡¯t notice. Hearing him use polite manners was surprising, given how rarely he used them around me. Then again, he didn¡¯t have a reason to be polite to me. We didn¡¯t start off on polite terms.


    It was an accident that led to our meeting in the first place. He found me knocked out in the middle of the road years ago. My horse, at the time, was a hundred feet away, gorging itself on the low-hanging fruit of an apple tree. Milo dragged my sorry ass off the road and bandaged my wounds. Embarrassed would have been an improvement to how I felt. Mortified was more accurate. I didn¡¯t remember falling from my horse, but it happened. Milo said it was a hell of a sight. There, in the middle of the road, was a small, strange, silver-haired woman sprawled out, unconscious, and drooling. I don¡¯t think I was drooling, but he was certain he remembered that part. He insisted I didn¡¯t owe him anything, but I knew I did. If he hadn¡¯t come along¡ªI shivered at the thought of what could have happened. He could have done horrible things to me, but instead, he helped me. The least I could do was help him in return, even if I could only remember fragments of my past like a fleeting dream.


    It was clear Milo was some sort of traveler, either homeless or a refugee. All his worldly possessions he had packed into a bag on his back, and he and his belongings smelled musty, if not moldy. Dirt stains covered his clothes, and his shoes were more holey than righteous. He kept his matted hair tied back with what looked like a piece of parcel string. To make matters worse, his unkempt beard was weeks old. The entirety of his face hung drawn and tired. If there was anything he could use, it was a place to clean up, and I offered him that much. He refused at first, but I insisted. In truth, I did more than insist. Milo was bent on rejecting the offer and tried to walk away. It was a foolish effort on his part. I followed him halfway through town, barking at him about how wasteful he was for turning me down. Much to his chagrin, he conceded after a mile and a half. Though he never owned up to it, I knew he was grateful for the shower and meal that night.


    It was a shock to my system when I heard the door down the hall. Milo was a different person when he stepped out of the bathroom that day. I looked up from scrubbing dishes and barely recognized him. His hair was a dripping mess of dark, wet waves that clung to his face and curled low around his neck. Clean-shaven, he looked younger than I expected. The angled lines of his jaw complemented the sleek contour of his cheekbones. He wasn¡¯t much older than me, as far as I could tell. His green eyes glowed, and I found myself unable to look away. He laughed at me for the way I stared, but I couldn¡¯t help it. One minute, I was making dinner for a rugged traveler, and the next, I was staring at one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. My face heated so much that my ears burned. He didn¡¯t notice that as much as I did, and our first dinner together was quiet. Milo wasn¡¯t one to talk about where he came from or his past, and I didn¡¯t push him about it. He stayed for a few days and then grabbed his bag and left. It was strange how big and empty the house felt when he was gone. I didn¡¯t expect him to return, and the house became lonely. Then, one day, he showed up with a fat wallet full of money and he dropped it on the front porch at my feet. He said it was more than he owed for my hospitality. I refused to accept it. We went back and forth over it for the better part of the day. I didn¡¯t want the money, and he insisted he owed it to me. I made dinner. We argued as we ate, and by the end of the night, he settled into the room he used before as though it was always his.


    For the days and weeks that followed, we argued about damn near everything. At some point, we realized it was nothing more than an excuse for him to stay. The arguing waned, and we came to accept each other¡¯s company. It was comfortable, if not a bit strained. Still, beneath the surface, lurked a strange, unexplainable bitterness. I wanted to know where it came from. I wanted to know why he woke in the middle of the night screaming, then walked through the house and checked every lock. One night, he told me a little about his nightmares. He sat on the floor with his head in his hands and a cold sheen of sweat coating his bare skin. Every word he spoke rattled with fear as he told me about the drumming in his head. He rasped about the ominous and steady beat of footsteps that haunted him. Hundreds, thousands of footsteps marched forward, unrelenting. The fires, he recalled, were everywhere. And there was so much blood¡­ He couldn¡¯t look up from where he stared at the floor. He trembled and shook his head to clear the images from his mind. That was the last he¡¯d spoken of it. From time to time after that, he shared little stories of his family. He mentioned his parents, a brother, and a few friends. As far as I could gather, his brother was younger, but they were close. It seemed he was only about ten or twelve when he died, and Milo carried a great deal of guilt about it.


    As the wagon came to a stop, the horse whinnied in gratitude for the break. Alin and Charon wasted no time as they started unloading. Milo climbed over the back of his seat and into the wagon bed. He picked up a box from beside me and hauled it over to Alin. I stood and dusted myself off, looking around for my backpack. Charon nudged it with his foot in my direction. I snatched it and slung it over my shoulders. He laughed to himself and shook his head as he went back to unloading. Passersby gawked at the bulky cargo in the wagon as we worked. Alin unlocked a box, and then another. A couple of men stopped and poked around the contents before moving on.


    ¡°That¡¯s a good sign,¡± Alin said cheerfully. ¡°Don¡¯t you think, Miguel?¡±


    ¡°If you say so,¡± Milo grunted, once more ignoring the folly and straining to lift a heavy crate. I caught the front end of it and helped him ease it over the side into Alin¡¯s waiting arms.


    ¡°Friendly people like to spend money,¡± he took the crate and dropped it to the ground, then clapped his hands together, ¡°and they like to talk. That¡¯s how you find things out. You learn a lot when you get them talking, like that guard. They¡¯ll tell you just about anything if you let them, and who knows what free stuff you can get along the way.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the best part, isn¡¯t it?¡± Charon¡¯s dry comment earned a glower.


    ¡°Don¡¯t act like you don¡¯t soak up the attention, pretty boy.¡± Alin grappled with a stack of small boxes. ¡°I know you enjoy it. Otherwise, you wouldn¡¯t go looking for it.¡±


    ¡°I never said I didn¡¯t.¡± His bandaged hands coiled along the edge of the wagon as he leaned over the side. ¡°Set up the daggers and the small hatchets first. We¡¯ll sell more of those.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Why is what?¡± Charon whipped around to face me. The way his eyes searched me over, it was as though he didn¡¯t expect me to still be there. He pushed off the side of the wagon to his full height. Swinging one foot ahead of the other, he sauntered over much like a model moving down a runway. My fingers tightened around the corners of the box in my arms. Charon stopped in front of me, blocking my path. He lifted a brow as he awaited my answer. My jaw tightened. For a man who claimed to have endless wells of charm and sociability, he too often came across as intimidating, or at least he tried. I wasn¡¯t that easily shaken. He was unnerving, but he didn¡¯t scare me. If anything, he carried himself like he thought he was some sort of royalty among commoners; and at most, he annoyed me.


    ¡°Why will you sell more daggers?¡± I said, clarifying the question, and stared up at him as if I could burn holes clean through his pretty head. A rim of dark pink, almost red, edged his lower lids, and his pupils constricted. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than they had been earlier in the day. My skin prickled with little bumps.


    Charon pressed an open palm down on the top of my box. I lurched forward from the added weight. He waved a lazy hand toward the people around us. ¡°It¡¯s close quarters. It¡¯s practical. No one¡¯s going to buy a full-length sword here. Well, the guards might if they¡¯re desperate enough. If they needed a sword right then and there that could kill Razen soldiers that managed to infiltrate their stronghold right under their noses, they might; but in case you didn¡¯t notice the wall,¡± he nodded toward the crowd, ¡°look at the guards all over the damn place. There¡¯s enough of them for a small army. I have a feeling they¡¯re not that desperate. At least, not yet.¡± He lifted his hand from my box, took a step back, and reaffirmed, ¡°Daggers go out first. Or do you still have a problem with that?¡±


    ¡°You sound pretty confident that they¡¯ll need all these.¡± I shifted the weight in my arms.


    ¡°Sussen¡¯s not known for their hospitality. When you have something to sell, you have to pander to your audience. You get more that way.¡±


    ¡°You tell them what you need to, is what you¡¯re saying? You keep them afraid enough to spend whatever money they have on overpriced knives.¡± I set the box down atop another and glared at him. It was an underhanded tactic, the sort of thing the big companies of the city used to squash out competitors.


    ¡°Something like that,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°You¡¯re a snake.¡±


    ¡°Leave him alone, Ash, and get back to work. We have other things to do today,¡± Milo said as he shoved between us. He shot Charon a dark look. I¡¯d never been so grateful for a reminder to keep working. I tore my attention from the blond and recollected the heavy box.


    Charon raised his eyebrows at Milo as he passed. He aimed a smirk at me, then he leaned forward and lowered to my height. I reeled back and his upturned lips spread into a viperous grin. His voice dropped low in a singsong, ¡°Better get moving before your little boyfriend gets mad.¡±


    Heat flared in my cheeks, and I gritted my teeth. There was more than a little something about Charon that picked at me. I scowled at him and clenched my jaw till it ached. He rolled his head and chuckled. Unbothered by my scowl, he moved away. I didn¡¯t know, and I didn¡¯t particularly care to find out what he found so amusing. Quick and swift, I sidestepped from the shortest path to the wagon¡¯s edge and made it a point to throw my elbow out wide and jab it into his ribs. I took great satisfaction in the sound of surprise he made and ignored his following gaze. He coughed in astonishment at my audacity in a way that made me think perhaps he was trying not to laugh. The silence that followed was one I relished. Someone needed to put him back in his place. His arrogance pissed me off¡ªhe was a worker, laboring the same as me, and wasn¡¯t so much as a half step above. If anything, I was above him. I escaped the Razen¡¯s fire, and for my size, I¡¯d managed to haul some of the heavier crates without anyone¡¯s help. He didn¡¯t do that. Instead, he¡¯d taken his time tending to the scratches and scrapes on his palms and face, too delicate to put in an honest day¡¯s work. I grunted and lowered the box over the back of the wagon. Charon was a pain in the ass, and nothing else. I had to stay focused. The sooner we finished unloading, the sooner Milo and I could find Tristan, and the sooner we would leave Charon and Alin behind as nothing more than strangers.

 Chapter 54 (A Tale of Glitter & Gold)

Asherah


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    could


    mine


    that would

 Chapter 55 (A Tale of Glitter & Gold)

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    boyfriend


    him


    Shit

 Chapter 56 (A Tale of Glitter & Gold)

would


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    .

 Chapter 57 (A Tale of Glitter & Gold)

was


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    <div>


    Dammit


    everything.

 Chapter 58 (A Tale of Glitter & Gold)

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    myI


    His

 Chapter 59 (A Tale of Glitter & Gold)

    It was strange walking through the town of Perry, as Callan called it, where the streets were occupied with people milling along and chatting as they passed. There was no hurry or urgency, and the pleasant air was filled with sweet smells and gentle voices. The last time I was in anything recognizable as a normal town was so long ago, I barely remembered what constituted normal. The outpost was well populated, busy, and felt like a town, but it wasn¡¯t the same. There were people everywhere, on every street we walked down. I couldn¡¯t help admiring all the faces and places and aromas I¡¯d never had opportunities to experience, ushering in a silence that filled the space between us, and where the silence lived, wonderful sensations blossomed to life within me. I¡¯d never felt so content, so happy, so free from the strife of survival.


    We ventured farther down the main road where there were cafes, restaurants, and storefronts lining the street. Each was attractive and well-kept. Perry was a perfect town, a far cry from the shambles of the outpost with their rundown, mostly empty cafes and lantern-lighted butcheries and bakeries. No matter which bistro or patio I looked at, the seats were full of people. Laughing, talking, lounging, and basking in the sun¡¯s warmth; there wasn¡¯t a single care to be found. The delicious smells of busy kitchens wafted through the air and made me long for a taste of the honey-sweetened pastries more than I wanted clothes that fit.


    Then without warning we stopped again. Another person had hurried across the street, waving excitedly. It wasn¡¯t the first time since we¡¯d turned off the residential roads. In fact, it had become almost a problem. People stopped us every few feet for the sake of striking up conversation with Callan. They were all smiles and delight bubbling over with gratitude for just seeing him. He handled every intrusion with elegant grace and diplomacy while I shrank back in his shadow. I wasn¡¯t anyone, and no one cared about me¡ªexcept for Callan. He didn¡¯t miss the way I avoided the people who approached us. The moment they left, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me back around to his side, resuming our slow stroll down the sidewalk as if it were any other lazy day with nothing better to do.


    After what felt like the hundredth person to stop us in ten feet, I sighed, ¡°Wow. You¡¯re popular around here.¡±


    ¡°You noticed.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to miss.¡± I glanced up at him. No wonder everyone was itching to meet him. There was something about him that was brighter and more vibrant than everyone else. Not only did he have an air that drew attention, but he was breathtaking. If I hadn¡¯t already thought so before, I certainly did under the bright sunlight. His skin was peachy pale, and the copper of his hair had a mixture of rich auburn and low russet hues. It looked soft as silk, and I¡¯d do almost anything to find out if it was¡ªI clenched my fists at my sides; almost anything. He looked over with a grin, and I snapped my attention away. I waited for him to say something, to tell me not to stare like that. I waited and waited, but he said nothing about it. Instead, after a bit, he nudged me with his elbow. I misstepped and looked up at him with wild confusion. His gaze kept to the ground and his face twisted as he tried his best not to laugh. ¡°What was that for?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You keep looking at me like you¡¯re trying to figure out who I am.¡± His eyes, alight with fire and glowing amber, met mine. ¡°You could always just ask.¡±


    I stopped. I didn¡¯t consider that even once. But could I really just ask? Callan turned to me, placing his hands in his pockets and waiting with the patience of a god. I looked down at the sidewalk with a frown and knitted brows. I could ask, but I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to know. It wouldn¡¯t matter to me if I didn¡¯t know. It was little more than a lost, meaningless connection to someone I wasn¡¯t anymore. I looked up and untwisted my lips. ¡°You could have just told me, but you didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just tell me, then?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember who you are, and the Asherah I know wouldn¡¯t want to hear it.¡± He shrugged and stared across the street as he considered what he wanted to say next. ¡°You¡¯d say it wouldn¡¯t change anything. It would just be a piece of history. If it mattered enough, though, you would have asked, but that¡¯s the Asherah I remember.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not that person.¡±


    ¡°You are more than you realize.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know.¡± My face heated in frustration. I couldn¡¯t remember him, but he was sure he knew me. He carried the memories of the person I was, and I stood there in front of him as someone else, someone who had never met him¡ªa familiar stranger. Years of absence had a way of changing a person. I was sure I wasn¡¯t the same person I was before the outpost, never mind before the fall. I didn¡¯t know the woman he thought I was, but I wished I did. I bit my lip and gave a nod. As much as I dreaded hearing about a past I had no connection to, it didn¡¯t make who he was unimportant. ¡°Alright, who are you?¡±


    ¡°Callan Elyon,¡± he smirked, taking a small bow as if introducing himself to me for the very first time.


    I stared, my lips parting and jaw lowering slowly to hang agape. Every other question I might have asked vanished. I snapped my mouth shut, and I looked away. If it were a coincidence, it was one hell of a big one. That name was the one I used as my own in the underground. It must have been a memory so distant I didn¡¯t know it was a memory and thought I had conjured up in the moment. A single breathy laugh escaped. It was a memory hidden in plain sight. Callan must have been important enough to me that not even a hit to my head was strong enough to erase him. I turned back with a smile. ¡°Well, Callan. I¡¯m Ash.¡±


    ¡°Ash?¡± He folded his arms over his chest and rocked on his heels. ¡°That sounds like it¡¯s short for something.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± I shook my head, my smile growing wider.


    ¡°Really?¡± His brows raised. ¡°So, just Ash?¡±


    ¡°Just Ash,¡± I shrugged.


    He nodded as he looked around the street. When his amber gaze returned, he smiled as bright as the day. ¡°Alright, Ash.¡± We both cringed. It sounded like nails scraping down a chalkboard. A sour taste spread in my mouth, and I knew the contortion of my face said as much. His nose scrunched, not any more pleased than I was about it. ¡°Asherah,¡± he corrected.


    ¡°Asherah,¡± I agreed, and added, ¡°but only for you.¡±


    The gentle smile that spread over his features as his gaze drifted from mine was one I didn¡¯t recognize. It wasn¡¯t one I¡¯d ever seen, but I was sure I¡¯d felt a handful of times. It wasn¡¯t embarrassment. No, it was something else, something bigger, but I couldn¡¯t place it. Callan pressed the soft smile into a tight line, banishing it away. With something like an amused huff, he cleared whatever he was thinking. Still, tension lingered in his stance as he scoured the shop fronts across the street. ¡°Anyway,¡± he avoided looking at me, ¡°as much as I enjoy watching you parade around in my clothes, we need to get you something that fits.¡±


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    ¡°Where do we start?¡± I prompted, ignoring the implications I was sure Charon wouldn¡¯t have missed the opportunity to exploit. I could almost hear his voice teasing in the back of my head.


    ¡°Good question.¡± He rubbed a hand over his jaw as he scanned the street again. ¡°There are a lot of options...¡±


    With little effort, I spotted a small storefront with an assortment of clothes on display in the window. A large sign painted in red hung over the front door. 91st Street Fashion. It looked like the sort of place Roya would shop, and I figured that meant I could find at least a few decent outfits. I motioned toward it, and he held out his hand as if to say he would follow my lead. I crossed the street, and he stayed a half step behind. Pulling open the door, a bell chimed, and a young salesgirl fluttered over. She was cute, by all standards. Her light freckled nose and flower-woven braids matched her sunny yellow dress. Her doe eyes were brown like Roya¡¯s, but not half as wide or round. She spoke in a singsong, her plump cheeks blossoming pink as she ignored me in favor of Callan. I should have expected as much. He didn¡¯t seem to care one way or the other and entertained her questions with small talk, giving me a nod toward the rest of the store. I took the hint and wandered through the racks.


    There were more options in one corner of the store than there were in the entire outpost. I ran my fingers over the different fabrics. Dresses lined one rack, both elegant and graceful, and ones I would never wear. On another, there were skirts so thin and flowing I imagined Makaria would want one for a warm spring day. Roya took a liking to anything soft, her outfits often mismatched, but anything I¡¯d borrowed was comfortable. I twisted the bottom of my oversized shirt and cringed at the prices stamped on the tags. Even when I had money, I couldn¡¯t afford things like these. I couldn¡¯t expect or ask Callan to pay for such rich clothing. My shoulders sank, and I took a step away from the rack. As much as I wanted clothes that fit, I couldn¡¯t justify the prices. I looked back at Callan. He didn¡¯t notice my hesitation, too busy with the girl twisting the end of her braid as he explained our visit.


    ¡°She can have whatever she wants. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s looking for anything custom today,¡± Callan said. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve had a chance to stop by; it¡¯s been a busy couple of years. I think you can understand, the focus is on something... fresh, not necessarily tailored right now. It¡¯s just us.¡±


    She bobbed her head, batting her eyelashes. ¡°Well, the seamstress is in the back, if you change your mind. We always have a seamstress on hand, sir.¡±


    I curled my lip up and mock-gagged as I went back to looking at the racks. Whatever I wanted, he said that with a lot of confidence and a lack of concern for the outrageous prices. I didn¡¯t like the idea of owing him every penny for his generosity and wasn¡¯t about to allow myself to become a charity case. When we were done, I¡¯d have to inquire about repayment. I wasn¡¯t skilled in most things, but I¡¯d held plenty of jobs and one of them had to be useful. Besides, Charon knew I could clean. But was that enough for a debt of this size? No, I¡¯d have to work harder than that. One by one, I gathered an assortment of shirts and pants, leggings, and a few accessories I thought were nice, tumbling over all the possibilities of how to settle the biggest debt I¡¯d ever made for myself. My arm sagged from the weight and as I buckled to keep a good balance of my collection, an older woman rounded from the back room and took the armful from me as if it were nothing. Her wrinkly face showed little emotion as she eyed me, scrutinizing my unfortunate outfit. There was something about how blank she looked that was more judgmental than any sneer or scowl, and it made me feel naked.


    Her long, hard sigh came with dispassionate instructions, ¡°Find a new outfit and change before you leave. And at least try to pick out something more flattering than a tent.¡±


    I stared at her for a long moment before she turned sharply and marched to the front of the store. Miffed, I pushed through hanger after hanger, jangling the metal and clothing in a loud clatter. She was unnecessarily rude. I paused and turned to the mirror. My shoulders drooped at my unsightly appearance. She wasn¡¯t that rude. I looked ridiculous. Wandering out of a fancy boutique dressed in men¡¯s clothing looked back¡ªfor me, and for their image. I grabbed a pair of pants and a long, tunic-style shirt from the rack, and slipped into the changing room. I popped the tags off and set them in a neat pile, then hurriedly pulled on the new set of clothes. I haphazardly tossed the borrowed clothes on the chair in the corner and examined the fresh outfit in the mirror. The shirt was simple, the pants were plain but well-fitted to my petite form, and the accessory belt pulled everything together¡ªit was modest, clean, and suitable. I didn¡¯t need flattering or flashy, or anything overpriced from the front racks. I wasn¡¯t trying to impress anyone. As I turned around, checking over my reflection on more time, I thought Roya would have liked this look on me. The colors made my face seem a little less ghostly pale. Of course, she would also want to do something with my hair. Then we would sit on her bed, and she would brush out my long locks, twisting them into perfect, intricate braids. I sighed, deflating, and wondered if she was thinking about me or if she was staring at a wall, lost to visions again.


    Snatching the wrinkled clothes from the chair, I left the changing room. Callan was still at the front of the store but had gained a bigger audience. The group of women gathered around him looked mesmerized like lovesick puppies, and he either didn¡¯t notice or he didn¡¯t care, but their swooning and fawning rubbed me the wrong way. I itched down into my bones. What did they want from him? I was the one who came in with him, and I intended to leave with him; not with a hoard of fangirls hanging from his every word and close on his heels. That settled it. I sucked in a breath and held my chin up. It was as if a fire roared to life inside me. There was no reason for my indignation toward them, but the idea of watching their unabashed adoration made my skin crawl with the need to put them in their place and reclaim his attention for myself. I shoved by the racks and stopped half a foot from Callan and dared not to spare a single glance at his admirers.


    He looked at me, and then at my outfit. ¡°Better?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely.¡± I held up the ball of used clothes. I forced a smile on my lips and shoved the clothes to his chest. He took them and raised a brow. I leaned forward against the wad of fabric between us. ¡°I know you enjoy watching me parade around in your clothes, but I didn¡¯t have anything else left. Especially since my very last shirt ripped all the way open the other night. I guess I didn¡¯t notice with everything else that took place. I¡¯m still a little sore, to be honest.¡±


    His eyes widened for only a moment, and then he breathed a sigh somewhere between disappointed and entertained. His mouth slipped open as if he intended to say something but all that came was a breathy laugh. I drew my lips in as if holding back something more I wanted to say but couldn¡¯t, given the company, my eyes darting to our audience. Callan hummed, nodding in thought and gaze falling to the floor. A flash of amusement flitted over his features and, in an instant, vanished. He looked at me from under his lashes and smirked. ¡°I take it that bite still hurts.¡±


    I ran my hand down my neck and paused over the ridge of my collar, fingers grazing the unseen scars. ¡°On my shoulder?¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± he said in a low, lascivious drawl. My breath caught tight in my chest as he masterfully traced his fingertips down the side of my neck to the edge of my shirt. That light sweeping caress was more than I¡¯d bargained for, and no one missed the hitch of my breath. He pulled up the shirt collar and tilted his head, leaning so close the warmth of his breath met my skin and I shivered. "It doesn¡¯t look as bad as it did the other night.¡±


    I swallowed hard. I had made a grave mistake. Sure, I¡¯d wanted to steal Callan¡¯s attention away and remind the girls ogling him that they were nothing but store clerks, but it seemed I¡¯d forgotten what effect he had on me. My mind blanked and my toes curled under. Sweet cinnamon and smoke filled my senses like his words in my head. The girls dispersed, rustling around as they returned to work, and I had stopped breathing. How could I? Callan stepped back and turned his attention to the old woman at the counter as if nothing had transpired. He took the bag with a polite thanks and turned to me, raising his brows, and motioning toward the door. Turning my gaze to the floor, red-faced and flustered, I sheepishly followed him out.

 Chapter 60 (A Tale of Glitter & Gold)

him


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 Chapter 118(Prologue: When The Mountains Were Alive, companion novel)

    The Mountains of the Gods 3712 BCE


    No one knew how the words became, or who wrote them into the stones of the mountains. But by time, design, and misfortune, the glow of their ethereal origin had long faded before anyone found them. They lay scattered across the peaks of the Tandor Mountains, subjected to the blustering winds of summer and frigid storms of the winter for longer than any other stone of their kind. So, when the first of the Tandor people picked up the curious stones, it sparked to life intrigue they¡¯d never known before, and they gathered the rest. Soon, there was a whole collection covered in fantastic and strange markings.


    Like a puzzle, the lines met up with one another and formed a greater image. It wasn¡¯t one any Tandor understood, so they took the message to the three great Mountain Gods, the guardians of all they knew: Viashuana, Ma¡¯anihapu¡¯a, and Mulsvada. Delighted at the sight of the stone, they brought the Tandor together and taught their meaning. This was when the people of the world learned their first language, the language of the gods. And for every day, and month, and year, and for every generation after, they passed down the story scribed on the stones left on the highest peaks of their beloved mountains.


    As time wore on and the people of the world divided, few mouths spoke the first language and told the first great promise of the gods who¡¯d made them. The people corrupted and turned on one another and war became them. Ashamed of the endless tragedy and suffering born of wickedness in the hearts of those they¡¯d once loved, the great Mountain Gods turned away from the people of the world and fell to the night of eternal slumber. And the message they¡¯d once taught, eroded until all that remained was the very last part of the greatest story ever told.


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    <div>


    Old Styxin


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <h4>Styxin Common</h4>


    Priniches promises, Chinge qwominege, chesis Astixis


    Xomepeletese Siqwules, Giphu Rinege chewil


    Pures beludes e Tserepanetines chise chesis


    Puhisen e puhisen, belise e belise


    Tsaqwuriphise, wunise e phutire


    Bhos shen sapheses, Wiphes bhos taken


    No astixins shes giphu, Dateru e Gadens


    Chis name ches sharen, mane losen chen taken


    eDege e Astixins-Astixis, behonede Sichis,


    Astixis liphe


    eLewase eLiphe, eLawase dinege, Astixis wilebe


    Astixis stestixin, parete astixis donote


    Chis sole shes hase, here harute ches kepen


    Astixins belude, eLewase-eLewase, lasete to be


    Peroteqwetedis Wureme, sete chimes fure shes


    duse


    Qwurenes shes qwominesen, perises ches peses


    Sacharuphise, Astixins Chinge name


    <div>


    <h4>Common</h4>


    Our promised prince, our coming king


    completes the circle, the unbroken ring


    pure is the blood of the serpent¡¯s kiss


    poison for poison, bliss for bliss


    once and future sacrifice


    save the boy and take the wife


    daughter of the gods, no children she bears


    for all he lost, his name she shares


    Edge of the world, beyond the skies


    all that lives, always dies


    Endless over, they never part


    She has his soul; he has her heart


    eternal our blood, the last to be


    protected is the Wyrm to set it free


    our queen, she comes, pays the price


    The name of our king, Sacrifice

 Chapter 119 (Chapter 1 The End Days: When The Mountain Were Alive, companion novel)

    Tandor Mountains, Edithir Spring, 560 CE


    Dynara was quick on his heels. Faliam had wasted no time carrying their son in his arms as he led the way into the mouth of the cave. Guilt welled in her chest as she clung to her husband¡¯s arm as he approached the stone altar. Her fingertips, stained with the blue powder she¡¯d crammed into the boy¡¯s mouth, trembled as she pleaded with Faliam to be gentle with their son. The coven of Styxin witches filed in around them, dressed in dark robes and chanted in low voices. One carried a thick book, opening it in front of the stone slab. She motioned to the chains lying around the base and the other witches gathered them up, endless in their rounds of sacred song.


    Faliam set his son on the stone and then took a seat on the carved chair beside him. His bloodshot eyes met the worried gaze of his wife, her crystal blue stare shaking with more unspoken fear than she could describe. It had to be done. His hands, covered with the blood of the son he couldn¡¯t save, shook as the witches bound him to the seat. The smoke of incense rushed around them and thickened the air. Dynara covered her mouth and fell to her knees as her husband¡¯s head flipped back and his chest rose and fell in quick, violent heaves. She dared not look at her son, bound to the stone bed.


    Barely waking beneath heavy chains, his eyes peeled open, and through the haze, Haros saw his mother for only a moment, weeping on her knees. Then a rush of sensations filled his small body. Like pins and needles, all the best aromas he¡¯d ever known, and the warmth of pleasures he¡¯d yet to experience, flooded him. With a gasp, he breathed in the smoke, and then it was gone. The cave blurred and swirled, and he was hungry. He twisted and turned and the cave shrank. From the pain of starvation, he shrieked and screamed, and whipped his head around, knocking into the stone. Then, he realized he was alone. The only light in the entire cave came trickling down from a hole overhead and illuminated the small figure moving around the floor; a mouse perhaps. He jerked back and the chains tightening around him, but it wasn¡¯t him¡ªit wasn¡¯t his body.


    Haros thrashed back and forth, trying to break free, and when he was sure he could free himself and rip the chains from the wall, warm hands pressed to his freezing skin. A soft voice like the ringing of a silver bell made him still and settle back to the floor. Through the smears of blurriness, he could almost see her. She was small and grabbed hold of his face like he was a giant, and stared at him with haunting disapproval. She moved like a mirage, filtering in and out as she pulled up her sleeve. He breathed out a low hiss he¡¯d meant as a growl as she instructed him not to move. Haros tried to find his voice and his petulant argument, but neither was anywhere to be found. Then, came an awful taste. It was sour and metallic. He bristled and shrunk down as it filled his mouth. Swallowing the wretched flavor, the world turned black, and the taste was gone.


    <div>


    Des Patier, Edithir Spring, 560 CE


    It seemed as if it were only a moment before his eyes opened again and the wicked dream was gone. Haros lifted his hand to his head while someone tugged at his shoulders. He flopped back and hit the ground. Staring up at the sky, squinting in the midday light, he tried to figure out where the hell he was, what he was doing there, and why he was naked. Sure, he had a habit of sleepwalking, but this was absurd. The last thing he remembered was the raid on the castle and his brother¡­ fuck.


    Haros turned over, coughing and clutching his stomach as it gurgled in demand of food. ¡°Where the hell am I?¡±


    ¡°The middle of town, dumbass.¡± Danren laughed, his beautiful green eyes twinkling with amusement as he peeled off his jacket and draped it over Haros¡¯ shoulders. ¡°And you look like shit.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, I feel like it, too.¡± He rubbed his hand through his dark black hair as he straightened up. His head roared, and he blinked wildly to clear the distortion of static in his vision. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Chores,¡± Danren said as he thumbed over his shoulder at the basket of laundry he¡¯d abandoned on the sidewalk. ¡°Not everyone has the luxury of being royalty. Remember?¡±


    ¡°You never let me forget,¡± he groaned, taking his friend¡¯s hand and coming to his feet.


    ¡°Speaking of things you might have forgotten,¡± Danren chided, ¡°while you¡¯ve been away, Asmond¡¯s wedding is still coming up and he¡¯s really hoping you¡¯re going to be there.¡±


    ¡°While I¡¯ve been away?¡± Haros shoved his hands through the sleeves of the jacket. It hung on his narrow frame like a sack. He¡¯d been on the small side his whole life and any time he borrowed clothes from Danren, he looked even smaller.


    ¡°The king said you were with your aunt after the attack last month. Isn¡¯t that where you were?¡± Danren asked, though it was clear he didn¡¯t care either way.


    ¡°Last month?¡± Haros recoiled, his face twisting in confusion. How the hell did an entire month pass, and he didn¡¯t remember a damned thing about it?


    ¡°You know,¡± Danren said as he lifted the basket, ¡°Yvin¡¯s going to have a cow when she finds out you¡¯re back and you missed her birthday. She said thirteen¡¯s a big deal. I don¡¯t buy it, but when I turn thirteen, I¡¯ll let you know if it is or not. Anyway, she had a big party and was pretty disappointed you didn¡¯t get to come.¡±


    ¡°I was planning on it¡­¡± he muttered. Yvin was two years older and one of the few people who accepted him for who he was, ignoring his title. Being the Crowned Prince of Edithir attracted attention for all the wrong reasons, and being poised at all times was exhausting. He tilted his head back and forth, cracking his neck. He was tired to his bones and hungry for something he couldn¡¯t explain. ¡°You got anything to eat?¡±


    ¡°Help me with the laundry and I¡¯ll share my lunch with you.¡± Danren smiled with a roll of his eyes as he hauled the clothes towards the laundromat. Haros beamed with delight as he hurried to catch up with him, careful to keep the jacket drawn shut. Not only would help him earn Haros some quick food, but he¡¯d also have warm, dry clothes to wear. Afterward, he¡¯d make his way back to the castle and deal with whatever he¡¯d missed, and perhaps someone would explain what happened to him.


    <div>


    <div>


    <hr>


    Royal Palace, Ordaithahn Autumn, 567 CE


    While funerals were bad, memorial services were worse. It was the final part of the traditional years of mourning. When a child died, it was nothing short of the minimum to spend one year for each surviving family member in a display of true, heartfelt grief¡ªan act of sharing the burden¡ªbut when it was a member of the royal family, the production dragged on far longer. Hell, when the last king died, the mourning period lasted almost eleven years before the memorial services brought it to an end, and his father was an only child. The worst part, though, was the pageantry thinly veiling the obvious politics. It was all for show because Edithir had lost a prince, and Ordaithahn had lost three during the raid seven years earlier. And to make matters worse, their queen had passed in grief while pregnant. It was a damn shame and a bigger mess. The rows of pictures and memorabilia of their lives looked more cluttered than honorable. But there wasn¡¯t much anyone could say about it. The Siege of Edithir was nothing more than the consequence of the purge of the Dragon¡¯s lines¡ªan act of the War of Kingdoms they¡¯d been subjected to for as long as Haros could remember.


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    After the fall of the Seralena at the end of the War of Gods, and the termination of the Wind¡¯s Speed inheritance, a mighty horse-like Dragon, there was a change in public opinion regarding the balance of power. One by one, the Nine Kingdoms came together and decided it was best to eliminate the threat of those responsible for Seralena¡ªThe Styxin¡ªand thus, with the quiet invasion of G¡¯hein, the Great War began. Once it had ended, and the Styxin were vanquished, and nearly erased from the world, the Nine Kingdoms turned on each other. Balance was lost, and they each wanted to claim the place of the highest throne. Led by greed and jealousy, they cut each other down and rid the kingdoms of the core of their power by terminating every last Dragon line. The War of Kingdoms was nothing but spite and rapacity married by malignant conceit, all because the prince of Raioben had refused the princess of Pelcatera, rumored to be tainted with Styxin blood, in favor of a noblewoman in his own court. Perhaps if she¡¯d not retaliated, or so people said, then the whole war between the northern and southern kingdoms would have never started. Of course, Haros wouldn¡¯t then stand in the middle of a memorial service higher than the trees with his hands in his pockets whilst his parents delivered a memoriam eulogy for his brother for the seventh fucking year in a row. He¡¯d seen enough pageantry he could vomit and feel better for the distraction. The world tipped, and a smile curled on his lips. He¡¯d only tried a handful of interesting herbs, but red weed was fast becoming a favorite. It took the edge off enough that he could tune out the noise in his head. Turning from the crowd, he headed for the estate.


    Ordaithahn was the pinnacle of claustrophobic fashion. Their bleached white walls were as uptight as the family who lived within it. The only redeeming quality was how lovely, though wholly superficial, everyone was from head to toe and in between. Hell, their princess was adorable. She had perfect curls, a button nose, and dreamy bedroom eyes. The problem was that she was anything but beautiful under the surface. She clung to Haros as if her life depended on it, and their parents giggled and snickered about how they¡¯d one day make a handsome couple. He snorted to himself as he bounded up the back stairs of the servants¡¯ building toward the kitchen. The closest he wanted to be with Princess Keirah was maybe shoving his dick in her mouth. At least then it would be useful for something other than drowning him in coma-inducingly sweet compliments based on estheticism and whining about her whims not being met fast enough to please her.


    He paused outside the kitchen and looked around. Keirah was nowhere to be found. A grin pulled up on his lips, expecting the delighted greeting he usually received from the head cook, Deanne, as the door swung open. A girl, smaller than most, squeaked an apology and ran back the other way. Without missing a beat, another girl was quick to the door with a tired explanation and apology for the previous servant. She paused and leaned on the doorframe as she looked Haros up and down, her lovely orange hair curled around her plump freckled cheeks, pushed out by a smile. ¡°So, what do I owe this occasion?¡±


    ¡°You can thank my brother for being dead.¡± Haros slumped against the door in front of her with a smirk.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a shame you don¡¯t have more brothers, then I¡¯d get to see you more often.¡± She stepped closer, tugging at his shirt as her sultry gaze flitted up to him.


    ¡°Take a walk?¡± His fingers slipped beneath her chin, and his lips grazed against hers in an enticing sweep.


    She giggled and called to the kitchen that she would be back in an hour. Haros grinned from ear to ear as he slung his arm around her shoulders and led the way down the stairs and around the corner. He wasn¡¯t sure how old Carin was, but he knew she was old enough to know how to please him. As they came into the shade away from the morbid festivities, she had no inhibitions about dropping to her knees and pressing him back against the wall. He had only a half second to catch his breath as she opened his pants and took his cock into her hand and then her mouth. Tilting his head back, he shut his eyes as her tongue slid around the already sensitive tip and her hand pumped his length. Damn, she was good.


    She groaned with delight as he shuddered, fingers sliding into the thick of her hair as he watched her lick and suck his dick like it was the best thing she''d ever tasted. Her gorgeous round eyes met his, fluttering with long lashes. Haros swallowed hard as his cock pulsed, a threat of how close he was to satisfying release. Carin slid a hand under her skirt, pleasuring herself in time with him. A wicked untempered desire curled through him, hazing over every rational thought he might have had. Fuck, he¡¯d do damn near anything to grab her, bend her over, and taste her. She could be his first¡ªblowjobs didn¡¯t really count¡ªand she would feel so good wrapped around his¡ª


    ¡°Haros!¡± A shrill scream shattered the moment.


    His heart nearly stopped as fast as Carin did. She threw herself back and wiped her mouth with her hand, sheepishly staring at the ground. Haros crammed his cock back in his pants, the damn thing going limp the second he recognized her voice. He rolled his eyes and sneered at Keirah. ¡°What the hell do you want?¡±


    ¡°For starters,¡± she scowled, ¡°to not find you defiling my maids! I can¡¯t believe you! Don¡¯t you have any dignity?¡±


    ¡°What does dignity have to do with getting head?¡±


    ¡°You have an image to uphold, Haros.¡±


    ¡°And I had a hard dick being upheld. Then you came along and ruined it.¡±


    ¡°One day, you¡¯re going to destroy your good reputation by acting like a filthy pig. Do you honestly expect I¡¯ll show up to fix it and make you respectable?¡± She folded her arms as she pretended as if she wasn¡¯t watching Carin sneak away.


    ¡°Oh, are you jealous?¡± Haros pushed off the wall with a smirk. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolled to her and stopped with more confidence than he should have had given that she¡¯d caught him with his dick out and her servant red-handed on her knees. He looked down at her as if she didn¡¯t carry the same authority as himself. Keirah seemed so small, but that was only because Haros was so tall. Despite his age, and how tiny he¡¯d been as a child, he¡¯d quickly outgrown most of his peers in a few short years. He was already taller than his father and still had time to keep growing. ¡°If I¡¯m going to ruin my reputation, I can ruin yours, too, if you ask nicely.¡±


    ¡°We are supposed to be greeting guests,¡± she hissed through a clenched jaw.


    ¡°Do you really think anyone gives a shit about us? It¡¯s all about shaking hands with our parents and pretending like they cared about our brothers.¡± He huffed and tossed a hand through his hair as he looked toward the load of crates the servants carried out of the kitchen for the banquet tables. ¡°If you want, I¡¯m going to steal some wine and drink until this party starts being fun. You¡¯re welcome to join me, Princess.¡±


    She turned, her arms tightening over her chest. ¡°I heard they have an imported selection from Sadel-Hirsche.¡±


    A smile wound on his face as he clapped a hand on her shoulder. Sure, she wasn¡¯t the prettiest in Ordaithahn when she scowled at even his slightest indiscretions, and she had a way of crawling under his skin, but Keirah wasn¡¯t without her perks. It was rare for her to reject one of his better ideas for fun. Hell, the first time he tried willow root, she¡¯d taken it too, and they¡¯d laid on her bed laughing about their hallucinations for hours on end. By the time the drug waned, she¡¯d ordered food to her room, and they sat in her bathtub eating their feast of fried foods. Her father found them there and was so angry his face turned purple. It was the only time Haros ever felt inspired to kiss Keirah, and a part of him regretted having not. Instead, he¡¯d laughed his ass off as her father dragged him out by his collar and lost his mind to his parents about the corruption he was spreading to his sweet little girl.


    She wasn¡¯t as sweet as he thought, but Haros wasn¡¯t about to tell him that or how he¡¯d seen her tits more times than he¡¯d seen his own ever since she¡¯d grown a pair, and how they also happened to be the first ones he¡¯d had the pleasure of touching. Not that there was much to touch, but he enjoyed it all the same. The timing was shit, though, and he probably would have fucked her if her friends hadn¡¯t shown up when they did. They didn¡¯t like him much and liked him even less when they saw his hands wrapped around her breasts. She explained it away with flippant ease and he was a quick master of hiding a boner. Regardless, Keirah wasn¡¯t as innocent as she led everyone to believe. It was a front, and after a few bottles of wine, they¡¯d have a good laugh about Carin, and maybe she¡¯d blow him instead before the day was done.

 Chapter 120 (Chapter 2 Lost Cause: When The Mountain Were Alive, companion novel)

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 Chapter 121 (Chapter 3 Fortune Teller: When The Mountain Were Alive, companion novel)

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 Chapter 122 (Chapter 4 Legacy: When The Mountain Were Alive, companion novel)

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 Chapter 123 (Chapter 5 Spilled Tea: When The Mountain Were Alive, companion novel)

    Chambers Room, Royal Palace, Edithir Autumn, 578 CE


    Haros sat back, folding one leg over the other, his lids sliding halfway down as he tried to keep his mind on the conclusion of the speech of the High Lord of the southern court of Pelcatera. It was drier than the biscuits stacked like bricks to corner the delicate teacup on the table beside him and as dusty as Yvin¡¯s attic. Lord Terrik sniffed and frowned as he returned to his seat and the speaker of the Chamber rose and took to the floor. He was a fair-haired man, tall and strong, with ruby eyes. His ears came to a tight point, a decedent of the old people of Matemirad. They were fishers and seafaring, claiming many of the islands off the coast, and had a sinister reputation for selling mertail on the Dark Markets to the highest bidders. More importantly, they were the children of the underground fae, known for their strange eyes and superior sight in the dark, from before the War of Gods.


    Those were dark days, thousands of years ago, when the gods clashed and rained hellfire on the world. The Gods Above disapproved of the Gods Below interbreeding with the humans and giving rise to the very people the speaker descended from. So, in anger, they sought to destroy them. The mortals claimed sides and defended the Gods Below. The God Above wouldn¡¯t have it, and went to twelve kings, and offered to each a gift of power they''d never been allowed before. They baptized nine in the blood of Dragons. Their lineage carried and passed from the blessed to the eldest child, and so each new generation became the next guardian of their people and the power of the Gods Above. Then they went to the remaining three kingdoms and bestowed upon them the gifts of healing, prophecy, and magic. The last of the three, Styxis, was ordained as the highest of all kingdoms and led the others to victory over the Gods Below. But it came at the loss of the Seralena Court in the south. The southern courts never forgave the Styxin and their might for bringing down the last stronghold of the Gods Below by sacrificing Seralena.


    For hundreds of years after, there was a bitter peace in the eleven surviving kingdoms. The Styxin remained on their island and all the others lived on the greater continent. They mingled and enjoyed life until the whispers began. Talk filled the air like the beating wings of a butterfly. If Styxis was the highest kingdom, then they were more powerful than any other individual kingdom. They were too powerful, sitting on their God-given throne and watching them from on high. It wasn¡¯t right. And for as easily as the Gods Below were eradicated, and all the races who aligned with them, some whose names were lost to time, then the Styxin could turn on anyone and do it again. It was a matter of time before they grew bored with the kingdoms of Dragons and eliminated them for their own pleasure.


    The Great War started with a slow invasion of the lesser Styxin kingdoms, G¡¯hein and Ileolm. The former was renowned for its prophetic abilities. They were a kingdom of fortune-tellers and magicians. They read crops, clouds, and creatures like text printed in books. Edithir made the first move, expanding their borders to the north and eventually claiming the castle under the guise of a greater union. The forced labor camps suggested otherwise, though. Ordaithahn expanded their borders into Ileolm and claimed their land and their castle as their own and quietly, with the elegance of the elven folk they descended from, erased the healers. Ileolm was such a complete loss, it rarely turned up in history books. Haros knew about it, though, from the crusty pages of old anthologies he¡¯d found in the catacombs of the library. It once was a scholarly building in the days of the G¡¯hein Kingdom, but became nothing but a resource room for Edithir to forget. Perhaps if they weren¡¯t so quick to bury the books and stories of G¡¯hein and Ileolm, they wouldn¡¯t have sought to kill all the Styxin. There was no record of them ever being malicious. They were great at many things, but fighting was never one of them. The Styxin were the perfect advisors and partners to the warring hearts of Dragons.


    Haros breathed a heavy sigh as he pushed away his fantastic daydreams of what the world would be if the Great War never happened. He¡¯d live in a different castle, sit on a different throne, and he¡¯d not have the luxury of escaping into the G¡¯hein forest when his parents were badgering him about duties and obligations. When it was at its worst, he retreated into the Tandor Mountains and wove his way through the rocky terrain where guards would struggle to pass and find him. Shutting his eyes, he smiled to himself and tipped back in his chair, daydreaming about the week-long disappearances he''d become almost famous for if he wasn''t already famous for so many other unbecoming behaviors¡ªas his mother called them. Shifting into another form and stretching his bones was a call to freedom he¡¯d never own. It was a small taste of satisfaction when he spent every day craving for what he had no name for and could never find. It always smelled so close, so near, and yet it escaped like a summer¡¯s breeze. The worst part was how hungry it made him. Not just for food but for drinks, and drugs, and sex as well. If he could need it, then he craved it with the desperation of a starving man. His unbecoming behaviors were hardly his fault.


    Peeling his eyes open and leaning forward on the desk, he smirked as Icarid paced the floor and pulled the attention of the room to him. He was graceful in step and his voice filled the chamber with ease. While Icarid was not a man of inspiring words, he was a man of wonderful sounds. When the meeting was over, Haros decided, he¡¯d slip away from the pageantry and take Icarid from the politics and bend him over the first balcony he could find and fuck him until his mediocre speech became moving. A dark smirk curled the corner of his lips as the Matemiradian Prince turned and caught his eye. Icarid fumbled over his words, running a nervous hand through his hair as he snapped around and shifted his focus back to the large audience. Haros chuckled and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, impatient and delighted to see Icarid was enthusiastic despite how he tried to hide it.


    His mother clicked her tongue and leaned forward, speaking so low it was barely more than a hiss. ¡°Haros, if you know what is good for you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I assure you, mother, I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªdo not even entertain the idea¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not really an idea, it¡¯s more of a plan¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªI swear, if you so much as touch him, everything we¡¯re expected to gain here¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He lifted his hand, silencing her. ¡°And I¡¯m not going to jeopardize any of it.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Queen Dynara sat back in her seat and snapped her fan open as she tried to remain poised while hiding the disgust on her face.


    Icarid swallowed so hard everyone heard it. He cleared his throat and tugged on his collar as he flipped over his page and glanced at Haros apologetically. Turning back to the papers in his hands, the pointed tips of his ears as vibrant red as his ruby eyes, he spoke slowly and carefully as he read out the order. A hush fell over the room and no one dared to so much as breathe. ¡°And thus, this brings us to the last conclusive issue. It has been agreed by the parties, his Majesty of the Ordaithahn Kingdom, north, King Mardios, and his Majesty of the High Kingdom of Edithir, north, King Faliam, and, in due respect, her Majesty, her Royal Highness, of the High Kingdom of Edithir, north, third in the court of Sadel-Hirsche, north, Queen Dynara.


    ¡°On this day, as these parties agree, we shall resolve the matter of the unification of the region in the diplomatic trade sector of the northern kingdoms under these terms: the sitting and sole heirs of the respective thrones, Ordaithahn and Edithir, shall ally in matrimony. As there have been no objections to the agreement, henceforth the Chambers and all their constituents recognize these two, her Highness, Princess Keirah, and his Highness, Prince Haros, as betrothed with the expectation of production of an heir to both thrones. This unification is not the restructuring or reduction of kingdoms, but an economic strengthening. Thus, Ordaithahn shall retain her borders, and Edithir will hold her own the same. The union and first heir will go to Edithir, the High Kingdom of the northern region. A successive second heir will be the first of the Ordaithahn throne. If they should not produce a second heir, the first will hold both until a second or later heir is produced to claim Ordaithahn. Whichever happens first. When both thrones possess heirs from the unification set forth here today, the agreement shall be fulfilled and no further unions between Ordaithahn and Edithir are required to satisfy trade or social expectation. If the terms of the arrangement are suitable and adequate for your Majesties, respectively, then do so agree on the intentions set forth to carry forward the motion of betrothal.¡± Icarid glanced from one side of the room to the other.


    ¡°It is acceptable,¡± Faliam said, taking Dynara¡¯s hand as a show of their joint decision. Haros glowered at them and then at Icarid, his nose wrinkling with disgust. They were deciding his future without a single care about what he wanted. And when had they made this arrangement? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, seething with betrayal. They could have discussed it with him first.


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    ¡°I, too, find it agreeable,¡± Mardios announced from across the room, looking up from under his bushy brow as he continued jotting notes. Princess Keirah, at his side, lowered her gaze to her hands folded over her lap. She was far from a blushing bride and was more of a mortified maiden and depressed damsel. Her loose barrel curls tumbled forward as she tried her best to nod in agreement. It was her misfortune to sit in the place of her deceased mother and carry only enough authority to be forced to agree to terms she didn¡¯t want for herself.


    ¡°Right, yes.¡± Icarid nodded frantically, avoiding meeting the ice-cold glare Haros was shooting him. ¡°Then, henceforth, we, the Chambers and constituents of, recognize and acknowledge the kingdoms of Ordaithahn and Edithir, are hereby unified by the betrothal of the sole heir, her Highness of Ordaithahn, north, Princess Keirah, and his Highness of the High Kingdom of Edithir, north, Prince Haros. It is expected, by nature of reputation and tradition, that an heir be produced at haste.¡±


    Haros stiffened against his seat as his gaze darted from Icarid to his arranged bride. Keirah flicked back the curly dark brown hair dangling around her shoulders, decorated with small white flowers. She carried herself with elegance, but it didn¡¯t hide her uglier features. Though her dress was of high fashion in her kingdom, it made her look gray and pale and sick. It was fitting in a way because she was one of the few people he¡¯d ever encountered that he didn¡¯t find even vaguely intriguing or attractive for more than a passing moment. From the first time they met as children, he¡¯d found her annoying and exhaustive. He spent his days placating her and convincing her to join his mayhem and mischief, only to ensure she wouldn¡¯t tattle on him before he could enjoy a moment of it. All the while, he found one reason after another for rejecting her stupid little games and races, but still, she begged him to participate in them. He didn¡¯t have a damn bit of interest in schoolyard bullshit when there were a thousand more interesting things to do.


    As they grew up, her attachment to him worsened. She didn¡¯t give him any peace and clung to him as if he were her savior. Sure, there were benefits and he took advantage of them when he could, but at the end of the day, Keirah was more trouble than she was worth. A handful of her tits came at the price of her friends¡¯ endless scorn. He wasn¡¯t her knight in shining armor. In fact, Haros was anything but that, and his growing reputation was proof. It wasn¡¯t long before he started outright refusing to visit Ordaithahn. He couldn¡¯t have cared less about the long-standing friendship between the kings. He didn¡¯t want to deal with Keirah¡¯s fantasies of a man he would never become no matter how hard she tried to mold him. As a result, they¡¯d met only once more as teenagers and it was largely by mistake as far as Haros was concerned. Though it was years ago, he wouldn¡¯t forget it. And it was a real shame he¡¯d never found out if Carin had taken a liking to him as much as he¡¯d taken to her. Keirah had scared her off indefinitely when she turned up and shrieked like a damn banshee over a blowjob. To date, he¡¯d never had an erection go flaccid quite as fast.


    The day wasn¡¯t a total loss, though. They¡¯d stolen so much wine, not even he could stand up straight without the ground slipping, and out from under his feet. They laughed it off and she teased him about how she¡¯d tell her father about the kitchen girl. Then her father would tell his parents in turn, and he¡¯d be in for the beating of a lifetime. She didn¡¯t tell him in the end, but it was the last time they saw each other. Too bad. If he¡¯d known he wouldn¡¯t see her again until he was older¡ªquestionably wiser¡ªhe probably would have been choosier about where he was promiscuous. Hell, she wasn¡¯t half bad-looking in those days and he was inexperienced. If he¡¯d had the foresight, he would have fucked her just to get it over with instead of settling for some drunken head and a quick release in her room. Maybe then her father would have hated him enough not to agree to the betrothal in the first place.


    He ran his hands over his face and groaned and Icarid droned on about the last summaries and announcements. Fuck, the only thing worse than facing a woman whose last memory of him was with a limp dick, was facing Keirah, knowing he¡¯d never be able to convince his dick to be anything other than limp in her presence. No, there were three things that were worse. A sudden betrothal to her, a room full of royalty expecting him to not only fuck her but to produce an heir, and having to deal with the fact that she was the living embodiment of everything prim, proper, and unerotic. He huffed and looked away, catching the lingering gaze of a green-eyed maid refilling glasses of water. She blushed and returned to her work. Even a servant had more to offer than Keirah. Of course, Haros considered, Keirah had nice tits, all things considered. No. That wasn¡¯t enough to stir so much as a tingle. Especially when that maid across the room had such a nice, round ass.


    Haros tipped his head to the side as he watched her wander through the aisle. She had good hips, perfect to hold on to and slam against. They¡¯d make a nice sound, the sort that clapped and echoed in a room. The sort his mother would go pale to hear and his father¡¯s face would turn red as he declared a need for a strong drink so she could deal with the indiscretion later. Licking his bottom lip as she passed by, he couldn¡¯t help but imagine pulling her hair out of that tight bun and watching it unravel in waves over her back. He could grab hold of it, pull it, and whisper the most devious suggestions in her ear until she moaned and shook with pleasure. And that would make for a far better end to the day than the formalities of an engagement¡ªan arranged betrothal.


    It was absurd to think that marrying Keirah would make any difference in the War of Kingdoms, the abomination of cold disdain left over from the Great War. Ordaithahn and Edithir had been in a trade conflict for years as the war between the North and South grew more hostile. After the raids in the northern Kingdoms, the night Lazroth and Keirah¡¯s three brothers died, the tension over trade deals worsened. There weren¡¯t enough heirs, or protection, or certainty to keep money flowing, and internal conflict was on the rise. Worse yet, no one was sure who led the siege on the castles. No one claimed responsibility despite the horrific success in severing the last ties to the inheritance of Dragons. Haros, though, was lucky and survived the night. He lived on, and that was the greatest mistake their assailants made. They did not know the secret his parents had kept for years.


    Haros was less than a year older than his brother, Lazroth, and his brother was born big. He stayed big, and Haros stayed thin and small. By the time his parents let the world see them, they made it a point not to announce which brother was the eldest. They allowed the world to decide. And they decided it was Lazroth. As a result, they killed him and the Legacy passed to Haros that same night. Or at least, that was his best guess on when he¡¯d come into possession of it. The whole thing was foggy. Yvin had tried to read his fortune about it, used her visions and every other practice in her arsenal as a young girl to suss out the timing and details about what had happened to him to cause his month-long lapse in memory. She traced his hands and giggled, saying his fortune was a real mess. It was the first time he¡¯d heard her speak in a forbidden tongue. Her Styxin wasn¡¯t the best, and Danren¡¯s wasn¡¯t much better, but she called him a name he¡¯d heard too many times from the older folk with traces of Styxis in their veins. She called him Sacharuphise. The best he could make of it was that it was an old word, meaning a loss, a sacrifice to time. He didn¡¯t appreciate it, but being called a lost cause wasn¡¯t the worst thing some had called him in his twenty-eight years of life.


    He turned his hand over and stared at his palm, his thumb brushing along the corded lines like a scar, where Yvin had read once more. That damn reading had been haunting him for weeks on end. She was crazy if she believed the fortune she¡¯d given him, and stood by every day since. A lover he¡¯d hate but put above all else? Bullshit. And how could it be possible for her to already be in love with him if they¡¯d not yet met? Now that, to believe it, would require sacharuphise. Haros smirked to himself. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t fuck her so hard next time.


    Looking up from his thoughts at the little family across the chamber, his eyes traced the trim figure of his betrothed. It¡¯d been years since he¡¯d spent any amount of time with her and, in a way, she was a stranger, but he wasn¡¯t deaf. The Ordaithahn people talked and had plenty of strong opinions about their princess. Some were good, but most were not. As far as he could tell, she¡¯d not changed one bit since they were children and was certainly the same cretin she was when they were teens. Sure, a memorial service was bad timing for a blowjob, but that wasn¡¯t any of her damned business even if he had gotten off in the end.


    ¡°Haros,¡± his mother hissed, ¡°what is that smell?¡±


    He looked down at his shirt, plucked the center, and sniffed it. ¡°Incense?¡±


    ¡°Incense!¡± Her jaw tightened and her eyes rounded.


    ¡°And a little perfume. Smells like pears.¡±


    ¡°Unbelievable.¡± She sat back, shaking her head.


    ¡°I know,¡± he purred, leaning over his seat with a sardonic grin. ¡°Who would have thought Yvin had expensive taste?¡±


    ¡°Have you no sense of decency?¡± She sank down, woeful for her son¡¯s indiscretions.


    ¡°Leave him alone, Dynara,¡± his father said, rubbing a bony hand over his brow. ¡°Just be thankful he¡¯s not made you an illegitimate grandmother.¡±


    ¡°How could you say such horrible things?¡± She swatted the king, frowning sourly.


    ¡°Please, the last thing I¡¯m interested in is having children.¡± Haros huffed as he settled back in.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to reconsider your stance on that sooner, rather than later, boy,¡± Faliam said as he leaned around his wife. ¡°This arrangement requires an heir, and our family needs another son.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you shouldn¡¯t have let your other one die,¡± Haros said bitterly.


    Faliam chuckled, shifting as he moved to the edge of his seat, ¡°You¡¯re expected to meet with her Highness, Princess Keirah, privately after this and join us and her father for dinner. The sooner you produce an heir, the sooner we can end the war. So, I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity you¡¯re being given, especially when you are so eager to satiate yourself with the likes of every prince, pauper, and prostitute you come across.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather cut my dick off with a rusted spoon,¡± Haros grumbled.


    His father smiled and clapped him on the knee. ¡°You¡¯ll make a fine king one day just as soon as you can swallow down that pride of yours. Maybe then you¡¯ll be able to do something for the sake of others instead of yourself.¡±

 Chapter 124 (Chapter 6 Warning Shots: When The Mountain Were Alive, companion novel)

    Guest Chambers, Royal Palace, Edithir Autumn, 578 CE


    For hours on end, Haros sat in Keirah¡¯s guest room and paid her as little mind as he possibly could as she berated every dress the staff brought her. Nothing was to her liking or sensibility, and he was damn near out of wine. Which wouldn¡¯t have been the worst thing if he hadn¡¯t already drunk the entire bottle of rum he¡¯d smuggled from the kitchen after fucking Icarid so hard he had to sit down and share a cigarette before he made his way upstairs. And that handful of Lady Cap mushrooms was second-rate, and the high had worn off about an hour after he crammed them down his throat halfway to the Guest Chambers. Hell, for good measure, before shoving through the door, he whispered a quiet prayer to whichever one of the gods gave the most shits, that he might have enough patience and intoxication to survive till dinner. Then he¡¯d, at least, have the pleasure of food to keep him occupied.


    It was nothing compared to the satisfaction he¡¯d found in fucking Icarid, or the new girl in the kitchen who thought it was her place to join them. She was great, not that he caught her name, but she wasn¡¯t the best he¡¯d ever had. He¡¯d keep her in mind for a rainy day if none of his favorites were around.


    Then there was Icarid. He was a beautiful man beneath the layers of his pomp suit. He was sculpted and lean and had the thrust power of a damn ox. His wife, who rarely traveled with him, wasn¡¯t half bad, either. She screamed Haros¡¯ name when he hit the right spot, while her husband was more of the whimpering sort. Either way, Haros would have preferred to listen to his name rolling from quivering lips and on panting breaths, than to spend another minute listening to Keirah whine about fabrics and colors and how the Edithir fashion was grossly outdated.


    She tried to hide her incredulity between sweet apologies and the batting of her long, curled lashes, but something about her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. There was no hiding the obvious disgust in her complaints. She hummed and sighed and slouched with every offer. There was no pleasing her, and he figured the same was true in bed, too. She would moan and groan in all the right ways, just as she¡¯d practiced, but she¡¯d lay there like a dead fish because she didn¡¯t know how to enjoy herself for even five minutes. No amount of bobbling breasts or pretty eyes could make up for that sort of lackluster. It was worse than masturbating with peeling callouses.


    The staff shuffled around again. Another rotation of dresses Keirah would hate. Haros watched as Lidynia and Hesrin whispered to each other and shoved the discarded items back into the wardrobe. Mercede turned away, rolling her eyes as Keirah scoffed at the assorted jewelry options. Of the three, Lidynia was the sweetest. She was a petite thing and a roommate to his favorite maid, Amberese. While he had no proof of it, he was sure they were more than just roommates. There was something about how they sucked his cock that was a little too similar. The biggest difference, though, was that Amberese was better at it. Lidynia, though, was cute as hell and when she looked up at him with her big green eyes, it always sent him right over the edge.


    Haros shifted, his dick stiffening at the thought of it. With any luck, one day he¡¯d convince them to entertain his whims together. If they ever had a day off, fuck even an hour off at the same time. He glanced over his shoulder as the next round of dresses funneled in. A smirk twisted the corner of his lips as he spotted the curvaceous woman with long, dark braids wrapped in an attractive halo around her head.


    Amberese kept her eyes forward as she paused at Haros¡¯ side, arms full of more long dresses she knew Keirah would hate. She bit her lip and rocked on her toes. Haros smiled, reached over, and ran his fingers up the back of her beautiful, dark leg. ¡°A few less dresses wouldn¡¯t look bad on you.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± she giggled, her face blooming into a soft pink.


    ¡°If you insist.¡± His fingers fell away. ¡°But if you need help putting those down¡­¡±


    ¡°Later,¡± Amberese whispered back. ¡°I¡¯m done at nine.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ll finish by nine-fifteen.¡± He smirked.


    ¡°Haros,¡± she giggled again, shrinking as her cheeks reddened.


    A throat cleared, soft and polite from her opposite side as a small, mousy woman stepped forward. She kept her chin up and her hands folded in front of her skirt. Her dark brown eyes remained focused on the princess, though she addressed Amberese. ¡°Are you being paid to entertain or provide a wardrobe?¡± Neither the faintest smile graced her pale pink lips, nor did a blush creep across her almost translucent pallor as she looked the young woman over and then darted to Haros. Her voice was as sweet as the ringing of a silver bell, but the scorn laced in her undertone was unmistakable. ¡°If you¡¯re bored, I might suggest you try conversing with your betrothed instead of the staff.¡±


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    ¡°And you might try minding your own business,¡± he replied as he lifted his half-empty glass to his lips. It wasn¡¯t the first time Keirah¡¯s personal chambermaid had made it a point to correct his behavior. It hadn¡¯t worked the first, second, or even eighth time, but she tried all the same. If anything, she was getting on his nerves. He couldn¡¯t move without her noticing and judgment flickering behind her pretty little face. She kept stoic, unreadable to the na?ve, but he knew better. No one was so placid. And her persistence to maintain such an eerie, calm facade irked him. It was a damn good thing he had wine.


    Mira rolled her eyes and reached over, gently taking the glass from his fingers before he had so much as a taste, and set it down on the table. She was the smallest thing he¡¯d ever seen with the audacity of someone twice her size and a hundred times her authority. Haros looked from the glass to the chambermaid, eyes narrowed as she kept her fingers firmly on the stem. If there was one person in the entire world he hated at that moment, it was her. Mira, the chambermaid so perfect at her job that he couldn¡¯t even enjoy the simple pleasure of getting shitfaced drunk with an audience. No, she had to intervene and remind him of his duties, and responsibilities thrust on him¡ªfucking him without even bothering to buy him a drink first.


    ¡°In case I was at all unclear earlier, Princess Keirah is my business. So, if you¡¯re going to continue to drink like a fish and fuck like a rabbit, I recommend you prioritize her before adding my entire maid staff to the list of things you plan to do tonight,¡± she said, her gaze lowering as her fingers slid from the glass and returned to their delicate clasp in front of her dress.


    Haros looked her over. She was too audacious in the way she spoke to him, as if he should give a damn about what she thought. He scoffed, ¡°You bitch.¡±


    She smiled, not bothering to look at him as her staff fluttered around the room, trying their best to soothe Keirah¡¯s dismay over her choices. Without so much as a nod or step in any direction, she spoke sweet and soft to the maids as she gave orders like gentle suggestions. They were quick to do as she said and worked together like honey bees for the sourest queen in the hive.


    Haros sat back, running his fingers along his jaw as he watched a moment longer. There was something about the chambermaid that he couldn¡¯t ignore or place, and he wasn¡¯t sure what to make of it. With Keirah, it was easy. She was objectively cute on the outside but so ugly on the inside that it was poison to her looks. She was the sort to justify her selfishness under the guise of altruism. It was disgusting. But when it came to Mira, the servant she kept damn near joined to her hip, Haros wasn¡¯t sure what it was about her that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.


    Either way, she crawled under his skin, and no matter how hard he tried to push her out of his head, she damn near lived there. And, to make matters worse, if the spoiled princess didn¡¯t choose a dress soon, they¡¯d be late for dinner and his father, among many others, would get the wrong impression. Or maybe it was the right impression. They wanted an heir, and Haros wanted the hell out of the second-worst deal his father had ever made on his behalf. The first was the day he decided it was time for Haros to carry the Legacy.


    Dinner, if they made it on time, would be a disaster. He¡¯d have to suffer through their sly looks and coy smirks. All the while, he would choke down the Ordaithahn dishes he¡¯d never once considered good. Everything was dripping with fat and butter and salt and no other spices. It was as if they never once bothered to trade with Tallus for cinnamon and cumin, and if they bartered the right way, they could get their hands on some saffron, too.


    Of course, it was abundantly clear by their favorite dishes they couldn¡¯t have cared less about making food taste good when they could spend a fortune on sheer quantity. Marrying a woman from Ordaithahn was more of a condemnation than a blessing. Their food was terrible, their culture was dry, and their fashion was centered wholly around layers and plumage and left so much to imagination there was only disappointment to be found after the labor it took to undress. Of all the kingdoms, none were half as stuffy and self-absorbed.


    The idea of sharing a room with her was exhausting. And he didn¡¯t want to even consider having to share a bed. By gods, it¡¯d take a week, at least, to get through all the petticoats and frill and lace to find the woman underneath!


    Edithir wasn¡¯t that way. He could go to a bar, or club, or even to the cave where the herbalists communed with their gods and find a woman half naked without making it through the doorway most days. Keirah¡¯s kingdom was tight-laced, from bodice to boots. In truth, he¡¯d not visited Ordaithahn more than about twice since he¡¯d come of age, and the only thing he¡¯d enjoyed about it was how easy it was to get cheap drugs and blowjobs after midnight. The red-light district was a few cocktails short of a party, though. It was, unfortunately, strictly business.


    ¡°What do you think of this one?¡± Keirah spun around, holding up a baby blue dress with a scooped neckline and a soft white train dragging along behind it.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my favorite.¡± Haros shrugged.


    ¡°Which one is?¡± She cocked her head, crumpling the dress in her hands.


    ¡°You have dark eyes,¡± he sighed, ¡°and wearing anything pale makes you look sick.¡±


    ¡°Then what do you suggest I wear?¡±


    ¡°Whatever you want,¡± he breathed, glancing at Mira as if to beg her for help. He didn¡¯t want to placate the princess, pretending to give a single fuck about what she wore. Mira took no notice of him as she hung the rejected dresses and passed them off to Amberese to return to the closet. His eyes narrowed as he looked her over. She and Keirah could have been dreadful sisters for how similar they looked. Turning back around, he leaned against his hand. ¡°It¡¯s not like it¡¯s going to be decorating my floor anytime soon.¡±


    [...]

 Chapter 187 (A Tale of Shadow & Illusion)

    Whispered words filter in like puffs of dandelion carried on the wind through the trees and reeds until the edges of reality blurred and the cold darkness of the infinite void claimed me the way it had too many times. Sig and Callan melted away in a haze of smeared gray and sparkles of gold dust. And what was and had ever been, disappeared until there was nothing, as nothing. There was no air and no reason to breathe. I existed as eternity existed around me. We were one and endless.


    Staring into the vast night, my head tilted back as a whirlwind kicked up and a flurry of gold flecks spiraled in a storm, hugging me as it rose into the nothingness above. It shattered and rained down, trickling like paint over the bars of my cage. The metal glowed like the sun and groaned as it bulged. A band of gray, lighter than the eternal dark, encircled the distance. From the band came a hum, a song, a call. There was something familiar in it; something my body remembered and my mind forgot.


    I cautiously stepped toward the bars. The chains bound to my wrists and feet rattled. They weren¡¯t as heavy and didn¡¯t shine the way they had before. Those forsaken aureate binds were nothing more than chains. I sneered at the dangling restraints and marched forward. The bars bowed and whined as they bent like melting wax. While it provided a little more space than I had before, my arm slipped through with unexpected ease. I maneuvered most of my shoulder between the cold pillars. On the other side, braided threads, ribbons, and all manners of strings floated like kite tails on a blustery breeze. I stretched and strained against the bars and found my chains slacked. I smiled, delighted at the thought of finally touching just one of those billowing lines dripping¡ªwait, dripping?


    Quicksilver droplets rolled down to my hand. Dots of red and violet, so dark it seemed almost black, speckled my palm. Yellow dribbled over my fingers, and then green and blue. The colors swirled and pooled in my hand like paint bleeding together. I drew back and cupped the strange liquid, catching what seeped through my fingers. The strange liquid, full of glitter and starlight, shone as I stepped from the bars, cradling it in my grasp. There was no reason for the leaping in my chest as I stared down into the thick, glossy swirls of color. Hell, I didn¡¯t even know for certain what it was I was holding. My brow furrowed, and I gnawed on the edge of my lip.


    Far and distant, the hum grew like an orchestra tuning. I glanced over my shoulder and the gray band had turned into a white stripe, peeling back the night. I turned my attention back to the puddle of paint in my palms, unsure of what to do with it. The colors churned and twisted around one another but didn¡¯t mix, and despite the way my unsteady hands jostled the liquid in my nervous pacing, they remained unchanged. With a hard stop, it sloshed over my fingertips and dripped on the glossy obsidian below.


    Plink, plop, plop, plink.


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    In a flash of white light, the floor lit up in a brilliant display and the air erupted in thunderous booms. The droplets spread from small circles into bright murals, radiating gold around their edges. Some showed familiar faces; Sig and Callan, Finn and Erys. Others were muddier with people I didn¡¯t know and strange beings I¡¯d never seen before yet had encountered so many times I knew to call them fae, elves, demigods, and all manners of other names in tongues foreign to worlds I''d forgotten. Each image, beautiful and horrible, I understood in an instant and knew the memories that spilled over the floor were mine. I smiled wider than ever, flooded with joy. I found what I was missing, hidden behind dark glass.


    My hands closed around the paint, my fist squeezed, and the strange liquid staining my palms and oozing between my fingers. Without another moment¡¯s hesitation, I threw it all into the air. It exploded like fireworks into vast visions in every direction. I shook my hands off; the paint splashed to life more scenes across the floor. My jaw dangled as I turned around, awed by the spectacular show of worlds I¡¯d seen and places I¡¯d ended too long ago to know how long I¡¯d lived.


    As I continued to look from one vision to another, I wasn¡¯t merely seeing them. I was in those places as much as I was standing in what once was emptiness. The voices, the days, every sensation I¡¯d known, filled me and I ran over like a cup beneath pouring wine. A breathy laugh passed over my lips as the light grew dim and the images faded. So many things at last made sense. Still, there was more. I could feel it.


    Turning back to the bars, I took off running, but no matter how fast I was, I wasn¡¯t fast enough. Those gilded pillars moved farther back, and higher up. I couldn¡¯t tell which way was which and when I looked down, there was as much nothing below as there was above. From my throat came a frustrated growl as I pushed myself forward.


    And then I fell.


    I tumbled forward, or at least I thought it was forward, but I wasn¡¯t sure. I thought I was looking up at the top of the cage where the bars came together, but they wiggled and moved like a reflection in a bent mirror. Confused, I stared at the knot of metal overhead. Had I been running upside down? No, that wasn¡¯t right.


    Waves glimmered and lapped over the exposed bars as my arms floated up as if I were on my back and sinking slowly to the bottom of great waters. Effervescent bubbles rose and shimmered in white and blue with soft traces of pink and yellow. Within each was a little fragment of the past, figures moving and talking in distorted voices. As scenes played out, I found I couldn¡¯t focus on one without becoming distracted by another. Despite their numbers, they bled into me, filling my head, heart, and spirit. The past returned, no longer lost.


    Then, suddenly, my lungs ignited in desperate need of air. Burning and aching for a single breath, they screamed for relief I couldn''t provide. I opened my mouth, gasped, and found only water. My hands clutched my throat, gagging and choking on the surge. My lungs filled and the frigid cold of midnight depths chilled me to the bone. I shivered, my veins frosting as it ran deeper, devoid of all heat. It was hell, dark and freezing, and I was fast drowning. As I sank, I twisted round and kicked my feet. I had to escape, I couldn¡¯t die here. I couldn¡¯t die in the void when I had only just begun¡­

 Chapter 188 (A Tale of Shadow & Illusion)

    Writhing in the water as I fell farther below, every desperate breath burned worse than before and the water poisoned what hope I had of escape. I would suffocate and drown long before I found air. My vision blurred, my body weak. I wanted to cry, but my strength had faded with my thoughts into near oblivion. Then, as my eyes grew heavy, my feet hit the bottom. I looked down. Black stones, shiny and smooth like a lake bed, rested beneath me. Shadows of fish swam between my ankles and around my legs. Ripples of pale fabric formed like a manifesting apparition. I turned my gaze from the rocky floor below to the surface above. An orb of gold sparkled on the other side of a waving glass ceiling where the knotting of the bars had been.


    I pushed off the aquiferous foundation and sent myself up and up and up, kicking for all I was worth. The surface broke with a crack and splash, and I threw my head back in a gasp. My hands smoothed down my hair. The ring of cicadas and screaming birds filled my ears as fast as the kiss of hot air met my cooled skin. I sucked in another shaky breath as I scanned over the tree line at the edge of the oversized pond, too small to be a proper lake. Far from the water¡¯s edge, horses trotted through the grass, neighing to one another and paying me no mind as they carried on.


    ¡°You were down there for a while.¡± His voice broke through the serenity. ¡°Feel better?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said as I moved without knowing why.


    It was me, but in the same way as when I¡¯d seen myself in all the other memories I''d recovered. I had no choice about the things she did or said. I was merely a ghost following the memories of the past through a story I''d known, a book that had been mine but had been lost for too long.


    Callan looked up from his thoughts as Asherah swam to the edge of the dock. She dragged herself from the water and plopped down beside him. Beautiful as ever in the summer sun, his face showed the pink rash of exposure stretching across his cheeks and passing over the bridge of his nose. He set his knife aside, glanced over at her, dropping his gaze low, and then averted it all together as he focused on the sunlit glimmer dancing over the gentle ripples along the surface of the water.


    ¡°How long do you want to stay here?¡± he asked as if disinterested, slowly picking at the side of his thumb, and merely making polite conversation.


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t stay too much longer.¡± She leaned back, watching the puffs of clouds rolling through the sky. ¡°It¡¯s been a few years and I think I¡¯ve seen enough.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s been a lot to see.¡± Tension permeated his words.


    Shifting in wet clothes, they squelched and squashed as water puddled around her. Asherah''s eyes drifted down to the fabric clinging to her form, outlining every curve. White and sopping wet, they were as thin as cheesecloth. In an instant, her face ignited in furious blush. She lurched forward, wrapped her arms over her chest, and whined discontent. It hadn¡¯t been until a few days earlier when a mortal man, who the others had called holy and father, pointed out the indecency of nudity and the latent ignorance that she had not yet in her infinity realized it caused wild discomfort for those living where she trod. And much to her chagrin, she had thought about it too often since, making it a point to disguise what nakedness she had not otherwise considered with finer garb and attractive materials, enough to satisfy the most scrupulous eye. What perturbed her more was the way people looked at her when her clothing was too sheer for their minds to focus on anything else. It was degrading, and frustrating. Embarrassing, really.


    Callan looked over again. A tight grin threatened his stoic facade. Asherah tried not to look at him, at his amber eyes tracing over her petite figure in the way the mortals of the world did¡ªthe way the men did. It seemed he was as much of a man as those who¡¯d chastised her attire and looked upon her as an object of their sex. Asherah''s body was a distraction, an aggravate and temptation to weak flesh. And damn, when Callan looked at her that way, she felt almost naked under his burning gaze and even the smaller at his side. A shiver wracked her to my core. He pressed his lips into a line and shifted back around, drumming his fingers on the edge of the dock. Sure, he was a man like so many others, but too he was a god, the same as herself. We existed, set apart and different from mortals and their flesh-bound desires, having no need for banal, primal recreations. Still, the thoughts teeming through his head were obvious, and it felt like ants crawling over her skin.


    Callan was thoughtful, meticulous in planning, and masterful in his ability to anticipate the next ten moves of anyone with graceful ease, opponent or otherwise. Watching those calculations run rampant was like watching stars burst to life in the dark midnight hours. Beautiful and awe-inspiring. If he weren¡¯t a god, created for war, and embodied it entirely, she would have thought him a god all the same. And what she wouldn¡¯t have given to settle the itch of curiosity in her fingers to know if his hair was as soft as it seemed, and his skin as warm as the way he spoke when we were alone. Where such wells of fascination came from, she didn''t know, yet there they were all the same in the ever-present insistence that she need know what it meant to touch him¡ªwhat was it to feel the heat of his skin, and take in the textures of his form?


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    ¡°Mortals are strange, aren¡¯t they?¡± Callan said quickly, pressed by whatever thought he was leading up to, as if he simply didn¡¯t have the patience to hold it in.


    ¡°People never change,¡± Asherah said with a modest shrug. She didn¡¯t know factually if that was true since she''d not invested any admirable amount of time into knowing them, but it seemed the case with every world we arrived in, destroyed, and left. They had many forms, but at their core, they were but the children of Creation. Destruction, as we were, was like a parent coming home to a mess. They senselessly wailed and pleaded as though it made much difference and could change anything about what lo had suffered judgment and rendered their fate. Sure, they had interesting stories to share, short-sighted philosophies, and greater dreams through narrow eyes, but still, they were only stories from minds unable to expand beyond themselves and did nothing to convince any of their worthiness for more time that granted them no greater service. It was inevitable; their time, as they perceived it, was over and we had arrived for the sake of cleaning up the mess of their unbridled existence and entropic decay. We didn¡¯t hate them, and it was nothing personal. It was just a matter of our existence. ¡°I think that¡¯s what makes them so interesting.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re like small gods.¡± He cracked a smile and dropped his head.


    ¡°Or at least, they¡¯re the idle musings of one.¡± She nudged his arm. When he smiled, the sun shone brighter, the stars twinkled, and the moon¡¯s eeriest, hoary light turned to a delicate silver. A tide of sensations she had no name for washed up inside her, engulfing her in a wonderful feeling. It had been this way for days beyond count. I wondered if she would ever know its name the way I did. Even more so, I wondered if he knew about it, too. Did he feel it, the aching want for something obtrusively close and entirely out of reach?


    ¡°I wonder which god¡¯s musings.¡± Callan¡¯s gaze shifted from absent watch over the water to her, hesitant to say more, but there, lingering on the tip of his tongue, something more remained held back by unspoken trepidations.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to say.¡± Her voice betrayed her as she fell into the honey and amber of his fixated stare and sweet smell lifting on the slightest breeze. And there it was again. The thought he had yet to say flickered across his face and caught him off guard as much as it did me. Had it always been there, just outside of notice? Maybe¡­


    ¡°I was thinking about something. Not just now, but for a while.¡± He looked down at the gap between us; the omnipresent space, untouched and unbreeched. Peeking from beneath his lashes, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips and the strings of my heart in kind. ¡°Idle musings, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Anything of consequence?¡± she dared ask.


    ¡°I hope so,¡± he said on a thinned breath.


    She wasn¡¯t sure what exactly happened next. It was fast and wholly unexpected. The strange pressure to her lips came all at once, but was not wholly unpleasant. It sent a sensation a bit like she was wax melting or her self was swimming through deep, warm waters. No, that wasn¡¯t right. It was better than either of those. And the taste of his lips was nothing as Asherah had expected, or could have expected, no matter how much time she''d spent thinking about it. Truly, there wasn¡¯t a thing she could compare it with, but she knew she liked it very much and it lured her in with a growing want for something more¡ªgreater and entirely undefined, unknown and undiscovered in her endlessness.


    What''s more, Asherah liked how it felt when his fingers brushed over her cheek and pulled her closer by the sharp crest of her jaw, and when his lips urged hers to part and our tongues met in the middle. Burning flames and crashing waves rushed over, one after another, drowning her in the thrill as his fingers tracked down the gentle slope of her neck. Tingles of heat sparked to life in the wake of his touch. This inexplicably wonderful way we tangled ourselves so carelessly together was more than words or language could describe, born of the same immensity as myself.


    Hauling to press to his chest, her breath grew short, and her cheeks blossomed as red as roses against her cool pallor. She didn''t know how she ended up straddling him, but she was there, fingers woven through his hair and it was every bit as silky as she''d hoped, as if it couldn¡¯t have been anything else. Everything about Callan was magnificent. She couldn¡¯t get enough and Asherah was sure he couldn¡¯t either as his hands dragged down her sides and tightened to her hips. In the sliver of space between laughter and wonder, we could hardly find the breath to bring us back down from a high we had never before known. Her trembling lips ached for more, and in reverie, she found she had been long starved in a way she didn¡¯t know was possible.


    ¡°Do that again,¡± Asherah whispered. He grinned, breathless in the afterglow. And in the throbbing of excitement and uncertainty, she added one desperate word, ¡°please.¡±


    A wide delighted smile spread from ear to ear and then vanished as he obliged her, albeit polite, demand. Idle musings, indeed. She wrapped tighter around him as if clinging to dear life. But it wasn¡¯t life I had been so desperately holding on to, it was something more. It was the unspoken, unnamed thing that had lingered in the space between us for the eternity we''d shared and brought from the Before. And then, in an instant, it vanished and the sound of squawking angry birds filled my head, the thick humidity of a forest prickling my skin¡­

 Chapter 189 (A Tale of Shadow & Illusion)

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    amphibians


    frogs


    pet

 Chapter 242 (Chapter 1 In This Beginning...: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    If peace had ever been an option, there would not have been so many starts and stops and redoes, or wars and battles and all the other fancy names used to soften the truth behind seeming good intentions¡ªmore correctly, the whims of old men too senile for a moral compass, who¡¯d learned to speak in tongues and train complacency in the masses for convenience¡ªfor ruling the hungry and poor was, since the dawn of the concept of need, easier than trying, and failing, to hold any amount of power over the fed, sheltered, and strong. When Death stands just over the next ridge, and starvation has crawled in where the discomfort of hunger had once been, a person will do almost anything¡ªsign away their humanity and fight for what they don¡¯t believe in¡ªjust for a good last meal; and when all the world falls, conquered by the faithless and damned, who will be left to wonder what could have been? What should have been? And had a single person staring down death, and hunger and disease, war they never wanted to fight for or join but had no other option to relieve their suffering without succumbing to darker deeds, and subjugating themselves to the will of those who put them in such desperation¡ªhad just one person found they had a choice, what world would be created when the others were set free? What would become from broken chains?


    And in a thunderous boom that filled the skies and the simultaneous first cry of a baby born, both forever changing the world in equal parts, the answer arrived. The vibration of all there was or would be, reverberated and the day was light as if commanded by nature to be nothing else. And when the first night fell, silence followed. The sky did not roar and the baby did not cry, and neither source of tremendous noise knew of the other. Nor could they. And when the day returned, it was the first day where chains lay broken and the world was not the same.


    Change, though, does not often happen quickly, or all at once. Rather, it¡¯s an abundance of toddling and tumbling, and forcefully trying again despite bruised knees and sore hands. It¡¯s gnawing on rubber rings and fingers and anything soothing to swollen gums. And it is the laughter and joy, tears and remorse, and boyish disregard for picking up socks and making excuses for forgetting. Change came with the seasons and the world went with it¡ªleaving behind summer days and entering into the inevitable Fall. And Milo, sitting at the breakfast table, spooning cereal to his baby brother, had only just realized the change in season with the call of distant sirens.


    ¡°David,¡± his mother said, breathless and trembling, ¡°what do we do?¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± his father replied, his jaw clenched as he stared out the window. In a blink, he returned to his breakfast and smiled at his oldest son, ¡°If the weather holds out, how about you come into the diner and help me hang the new signs out front today?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Milo looked at his father, bewildered by the invitation. Countless times he¡¯d asked to come along, and the answer had always been ¡®when you¡¯re older¡¯.


    ¡°Who else?¡± he asked with a smile. ¡°Of course, you, Milo. Michael¡¯s still too small. Sorry, maybe when you¡¯re older, kiddo.¡± He rubbed the younger boy¡¯s head and stroked his cheek as the child squealed.


    ¡°David,¡± his mother¡¯s hand pressed to her husband¡¯s shoulder as the table began to rattle and then tremble. The dishes clattered and jostled around. Milo lifted his hands, and Michael giggled. His mother shut her eyes and braced, and his father gently held her hand as she gripped his shoulder tighter.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost over,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°What is?¡± Milo asked.


    As the shaking slowed and the sirens silenced, his mother let out a hard, short breath like a sigh of relief and sorrow. The television snapped to static. She hurried across the room, turned it off, and embraced the thick of quiet like the stagnant heat just before a storm. She leaned on the counter, hanging her head, and stifling the onset of cry behind her long hair. Silence settled like motes of dust in the morning light, burning hotter than usual, as if an entire star had exploded all at once and they lived where the scar of a shadow should have been and became the settling debris of what life after remained.


    ¡°Eleanor,¡± his father said, standing up from the table and meeting her in the kitchen. He stroked her arms, whispering in her ear the words of comfort she refused with shakes of her head and barely restrained sobs.


    ¡°Mom?¡± Milo asked, worry filling every corner of his spirit with each tear that fell from her chin and every deeper frown his father tried to hide. He didn¡¯t understand how or why she quickly wiped her face and put on a smile, pushing by her husband as if she hadn¡¯t been upset a half second earlier. Or the reason for the extra dessert that night or the endless rounds of bedtime stories, extra kisses and hugs, and the snuggled morning greetings. And no matter how happy it made him at the moment, there lingered in him unrest for the unanswered question: What was that?


    And that question haunted his every day from when he¡¯d asked it to when he¡¯d finally gotten the answer. Especially on one day, every year, it bothered him more than the uncomfortable desk seats at school or the itch he had after a long day of cleaning at the diner. Milo chewed his lower lip, drumming his pencil against the desk. His best friend, <mark>Lukas</mark>, could hardly keep his head up, and Kelsey had taken to drawing in her notebook. The morning announcements were longer than usual and had droned on to the point almost no one was listening. The girl at the front, Tabitha, cleared her throat and finished up the details of the Bethany Wall Project and the milestone they¡¯d met since the Resistance had reached them two years earlier. Their burrowing through the radiation of the Winter Zones had been a success and Bethany had restored trade with outside territories. It was the first time since the incident¡­the reason the morning announcements were taking so long. The short-term fix to a long-term problem.


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    ¡°Today,¡± Tabitha said, her voice lowering into a glum stage whisper, ¡°marks the fifth anniversary of the Mutually Assured Destruction Disaster. If we could have a moment of silence¡­¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± Milo spoke up.


    ¡°For the people who died,¡± she answered as their teacher rose from her desk at the front of the room. Her face had already warped with scorn.


    ¡°It was a tragedy, Mr. Stillwater. Countless people died trying to stop them and¡ª¡±


    ¡°They failed,¡± he concluded. ¡°They¡¯re gods. Did they really think a couple thousand bombs would do anything?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re the Horsemen of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Christian propaganda and bullshit.¡± Milo leaned against his desk with a curled-lip sneer. He¡¯d spent the few free hours he found between school and working with his father at the diner, deep in the pages of every religious text he could get his hands on, and discovered that every peoples had a tale of end days¡ªwarriors, demons, and deities come from the sky to slaughter the masses like sheep for sacrifice¡ªand the peoples accepted it with absolute complacency. And yet, it was as clear as the words on the page, they didn¡¯t have to settle for extermination. The gods were fallible. If only someone understood the way he did, perhaps they¡¯d listen. And so he tried, the same as he had every year to make them listen. ¡°They came from the sky eleven years ago and have been killing everyone since, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°I will not accept this fear-mongering¡ª¡±


    ¡°No one has done anything¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t stop, I¡¯ll send you to the principal¡¯s office¡ª¡±


    ¡°And we all sit back and complacently pretend like everything is fine, like stupid cattle outside the slaughterhouse waiting for¡ª¡±


    ¡°That is enough!¡±


    ¡°Why doesn¡¯t anyone fight?¡±


    His teacher¡¯s face was the sort of red his mother¡¯s became any time he brought up the militia. Abilities. The Hell-bound army of the Horsemen. The futility of good people unwilling to fight what wicked waited on the precipice of demise. It was like a ripe cherry tomato about to pop. And like his mother, his teacher, too, popped. Her white-knuckled fist opened only enough to jut a finger at the door.


    ¡°Office, now,¡± she commanded.


    Milo huffed and collected up his books. <mark>Lukas</mark> cackled and Kelsey offered a sympathetic half-smile as he passed. It wasn¡¯t the first time he would be sent home for saying the things everyone thought but wasn¡¯t bold enough to say for themselves. They¡¯d all wondered about it at one point or another but had quietly resigned to never having an answer, to accepting the military occupation of Bethany, and the looming threat of the Horsemen. But what could they do? Anyone who faced them met only one of two fates. They either died, or everyone wished they had.


    There was no returning home from the war they couldn¡¯t win and anyone unfortunate enough to have an ability was placed at the front lines. To save themselves, many went into hiding from the military. They wouldn¡¯t be their Hail Marys or sacrificial lambs. But in the peace of Bethany, isolated from the world by an encircling of radiated Winter Zones, those with abilities lived free. Or at least they had until the Resistance showed up. There were a lot of people who killed themselves, fearing they¡¯d be rounded up and put into camps like those of other towns. Or so they¡¯d heard. Milo wasn¡¯t sure what was true, and what were just stories. He¡¯d seen enough to realize the Winter Zones were dangerous, but also that there were hunters in special suits who¡¯d crossed them. They weren¡¯t as isolated as they wanted to believe, and that meant they were never as safe as they thought, either.


    Milo clutched his stack of books on his lap, sitting outside the principal¡¯s office. His mom would have a fit when she got there to pick him up. Dragging his fingers up the edge of the pages, a thin dusting of gold trailed behind. He gasped and cramped his hands under his legs, sitting straight and taking a deep breath to settle himself. The secretary came by, took one look at him, and picked up her jar of lollipops.


    ¡°You want one, Milo?¡± She smiled. ¡°You look pretty tense again, today. Want to talk about it? Were you in another fight?¡±


    He shook his head, eyes wide like he¡¯d seen a ghost. The secretary set the jar down, leaving the lid set aside, and returned to her work. Milo gulped and then put his hands over his face. The smell of metal lingered in his palms. He didn¡¯t know what it was, or why it kept happening, but he couldn¡¯t tell anyone. They¡¯d tease him, or worse, they¡¯d tell the Resistance. He saw what happened to his classmates when they developed an ability. They disappeared. Milo peeked at the door as the principal¡¯s voice neared. He had to get it under control. If anyone knew, he¡¯d never get a chance to fight for the freedom of humanity in any real way. He wouldn¡¯t be able to fight for his future, or Michael¡¯s. The Resistance would use him as an easy tool, a quick means to an end. And what good was that?


    ¡°Mr. Stillwater,¡± the principal said, swinging the door open, ¡°come on in. Let¡¯s talk.¡±


    Milo stood up with a groan and hung his head. They¡¯d talk, and he¡¯d wait for his mom like last time, and the time before that. All the while, he¡¯d barely listen and dream of a day when he could prove his worth, that he was right. The Horsemen may have been gods, but this was his world first. He could fight them. He could stop them. There had to be a way¡­even if it took a miracle, he¡¯d find a way. He¡¯d be the miracle.

 Chapter 243 (Chapter 2 Old Enough: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    Two years passed with fist fights and arguments with teachers in such a blur, no one thought twice when they found Milo at the center of it. He¡¯d grown taller, stronger, and bolder, and his attention fixated on the stream of soldiers pouring in and the growing barracks formed to the wall they¡¯d finally finished. Bethany was swarming with Resistance and Militia, drowning in them as if it were a proper base. But it wasn¡¯t just any assortment of soldiers, it was the best. Among them was Theodore Francis <mark>Makler</mark>, the point of Milo¡¯s greatest interest, and a man who was considered the greatest leader the Resistance had known; who¡¯d bested the former founding leader, George Arnold Anderson-Black, in almost everything except physical stature. Unlike George, a giant of a man who had to duck to get through doors and turn sideways for his broad shoulders to fit, <mark>Makler</mark> was small. He stood at a mere five feet and three inches but had a booming voice capable of filling a stadium. He inspired his troop and struck fear into anyone who opposed him. Even George had the sense to tremble when <mark>Makler</mark> turned a dark eye his way. No one crossed him, and those who served under him had more respect for him than they did for their own mothers.


    There wasn¡¯t a single minute of training he skipped, and no matter how dangerous the battlefield was, he stood in the middle of it with his sword drawn and an angry scowl across his face like war paint. But this was no battlefield, despite how it felt as he tapped his pen in a steady rhythm with the clock scanning over the page he held pinched in his fingers, and then looked over the rim of his glasses at the boy sitting across from him. Night after night, and during the longest parts of the day, he was haunted by flashes of visions of a man he¡¯d yet to know who stood at the edge of the end of the world. Tall, with strong features, and wavy brown hair, glinting red from the firefight of a battle below; and here was this boy, a kid, a mirror image of the man he¡¯d seen too many times leading the charge of the last of humanity, sitting in front of him. And he was a boy, no matter what the papers claimed. His face was too round and his skin was as smooth as a baby¡¯s bottom. The most hair on him was the mop of wavy auburn locks hanging down to his chin, tied back in a half tail as if it made him look older. It didn¡¯t, and any idiot could see he was thirteen, fourteen at most. But he had the right look about him¡­.


    Chewing the inside of his cheek, <mark>Makler</mark> shook his head and set the paper on the desk. There was no easy way to handle these situations. <mark>There¡¯d</mark> been too many others like him who turned out to be just ordinary kids with a grudge and wanted to prove themselves against all odds. Some simply wanted good pay and a steady roof over their heads. Everyone had their reason. Still, he didn¡¯t know why this boy was sitting in front of him with eyes sparkling with gold flecks of sunlight as if he were before a god, or why he¡¯d lied on his papers. It could be anything. Maybe he was an orphan, or he was trying to catch up with a dad or brother or someone else who shipped out to one of the outposts or camps in the last few years. It didn¡¯t matter, though. He was a kid and there was no place for him in the Resistance or the local militia until he was older.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± He folded his hands on the desk, leaning forward, sympathetic but stern.


    ¡°Milo,¡± he said, his brows pinching together. ¡°Sir.¡±


    ¡°<mark>Hm</mark>.¡± <mark>Makler</mark> nodded. ¡°You have a last name, Milo?¡±


    ¡°Stillwater.¡±


    ¡°Right. Milo¡­Stillwater.¡± He bobbed his head in thought. ¡°Like the diner?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Dave¡¯s son?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°<mark>Hm</mark>.¡± <mark>Makler</mark> sat back. ¡°Does he know you¡¯re here?¡±


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    Waving a hand, he breathed and glanced to the window, ¡°Drop the formalities, kid. Wouldn¡¯t you rather be outside with your friends on a day like this? When I was a boy, at your age, I dreamed about the sort of summer we¡¯re having and¡ª¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, sir, I¡¯m here to join the militia.¡± His knee bounced as he tightened his hands over his lap.


    ¡°Oh, I know.¡± <mark>Makler</mark> came back around, his frown deep and cutting. ¡°I saw your application. And if you were older, I¡¯d have you starting yesterday and fast-track you to officer by Tuesday next week. But you¡¯re not sixteen, son. Those are the rules, and our rules are law. Keep up the hard work and I¡¯ll see you in two years.¡±


    Milo¡¯s nostrils flared as he took a steadying breath. He knew there was a good chance they¡¯d turn him away, but he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d sit in <mark>Makler¡¯s</mark> office and listen to him treat him like a child. He wasn¡¯t a child. Fourteen was anything but a child. If he could run the diner, shoot a bow better than everyone he knew, and hold his own in a sword fight, then he wasn¡¯t some kid trying to run away from home and make a name for himself. He was capable and ready for the trials of the militia.


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    ¡°Senior Captain <mark>Wes</mark> Bridget joined six months before his sixteenth birthday because he scored 860 on his exams and had an archery accuracy of 8.8 at mid-range, 7.9 at long range.¡± Milo¡¯s olive green eyes lifted from beneath his brow and met <mark>Makler¡¯s</mark> as he did his best to keep his composure. ¡°I scored 1135 on the exams, and have an archery accuracy of 8.9 at mid-range, and 8.6 at long range. If you ask me, when the test is out of 1200 and perfect archery is a 9, the Razen would love to have me if you won¡¯t.¡±


    <mark>Makler</mark> snorted, grinned, and rocked back in his chair. He had to give it to him, the boy was audacious and determined. Between brains and brawn, he¡¯d make a great soldier and a better leader if groomed properly. Maybe he was the boy he¡¯d long been looking for, the one who¡¯d take his place. <mark>Makler</mark> shook his head in disbelief about his own decision to throw caution to the wind and hang hope on one last kid. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m going to say this but,¡± he let out a breath he¡¯d held in too long, ¡°be at the training yards at 0400, and I¡¯ll personally oversee your regiment. You¡¯ll finish up by 0700 and get to school on time after. Be back at 1330, and we¡¯ll work on tutoring you up to par with the other soldiers until 1900. Go home, rest, repeat.¡±


    ¡°My dad has me run the diner every Tuesday and Sunday afternoon.¡±


    With a click of his tongue, <mark>Makler</mark> picked up the paper again and scanned over the details. ¡°Alright, Tuesdays and Sundays, you work on the studying we give you. I¡¯ll provide you with the material. You pass the exams every second Thursday and you stay. Days you¡¯re not at the diner, you¡¯re with me. Full afternoons, 1330 to 1900 hours, you¡¯re in training.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Milo¡¯s back stiffened, and excitement raced through his veins.


    ¡°Let¡¯s make one thing very clear, though, Milo.¡± <mark>Makler</mark> dropped the paper on the desk and drummed his fingers, looking the boy up and down. ¡°You¡¯re too young to be enlisted with the militia. And you won¡¯t be part of them. I¡¯m mentoring you. And when you¡¯re done with my private mentorship, you¡¯ll be ready for a leadership career with the Resistance. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he croaked, fighting back a smile. It was one thing to join the militia, but it was another to be part of the Resistance. They didn¡¯t take just anyone. They only accepted the best and to train with the leader, the Commander-in-Chief, Theodore <mark>Makler</mark>, was an honor few ever had. And there he was, sitting across from him and agreeing to a mentorship. It was more than he¡¯d hoped for when he was called into the office.


    ¡°Good,¡± <mark>Makler</mark> sniffed and shifted his chair, ¡°I¡¯ll see you at 0400, Stillwater. Bring your best.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he jumped up from the seat. ¡°I will, sir. Thank you.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows expectantly.


    ¡°Sir,¡± Milo quickly corrected, holding his breath.


    ¡°We¡¯ll work on that,¡± he waved a hand, shooing him. ¡°Dismissed.¡±


    Without another word, Milo spun around and headed out the door. He¡¯d never been so excited in his entire life. Soon he¡¯d be able to make a real difference, bring an end to the fighting, and give the world a second chance at life. He skipped down the road and hurried around the bend to the cornfield with high stalks and plump cobs. Pausing a moment to throw his head back, he laughed and dragged his hands through his hair. His whole body tingled and warmed until the smell of soldering metal rose from his skin and his natural tan complexion glowed like gold.


    Whooping, he threw his hands down and hundreds of grasshoppers, moths, and butterflies flew up from the field as if cheering with him. He turned around and stared up at them. Cringing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and swallowed hard. His ability was almost impossible to hide when he was excited. Or scared. Or upset. It never seemed to work when he wanted it to and helped him at the wrong times.


    He could have used it when the car broke down not long after the oil shortage hit seven or eight years ago. His mom would have been thankful for not having to make the four-mile walk home in heels while carrying Michael on her hip as he cried and whined about teething. And it would have come in handy when Kelsey accidentally got locked in the school athletic shed two years ago when it was almost one hundred degrees. But no luck. He had to break her out the old-fashioned way and served a month¡¯s worth of detentions for breaking the door off the hinges with a fire ax.


    Instead, his ability worked at random. He could hit a target across a field with his eyes shut every time, but he couldn¡¯t turn water into wine for his friends. With a wave of his hand, the thick scent of hot metal filled his nose and his ability worked with ease. He created perfect fake IDs and applied for the militia, but making sure his family had enough food when the imports ran out a year earlier was impossible. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn¡¯t make bread out of stones the way <mark>Lukas</mark> did. Even Michael had better control over his ability and he was a little kid. There wasn¡¯t a toy he couldn¡¯t fix, while Milo struggled to make his ability work on command.


    With any luck, <mark>Makler</mark> wouldn¡¯t ask if he had an ability and wouldn¡¯t employ any whisperers or personals to find out. And he had no reason to, either. Milo wasn¡¯t joining the militia, so he didn¡¯t need an evaluation. And he was too young for the Resistance, too. <mark>Makler</mark> was taking him on as a personal project, a student, maybe even a <mark>prot¨¦g¨¦</mark>. Milo smiled to himself. When all the world was ending, the least he could do was dream, and hold on to the little sliver of hope that maybe things could be different. If only the gods could understand how precious their lives were, maybe they wouldn¡¯t want to end the world.


    Milo stopped at the end of the long driveway. The gods who came and wiped out the greatest <mark>militaries</mark> of the world, who were untouched when the nuclear missiles went off and made quick work of most of what remained of humanity, didn¡¯t care and couldn¡¯t see the value in the lives of the people they slaughtered. They were gods, after all. How could anyone expect them to understand when all they knew was what they saw? And since that was the case, Milo was determined to prove his worth, the worth of the rest of the world, and stop the army they called the Razen and the gods, themselves. He wasn¡¯t sure how he would do it, but joining the Resistance brought him one step closer. Milo knew he could make a difference. He felt it in his bones, burning and vibrating and calling him to fight for all of creation. And fight he would.

 Chapter 244 (Chapter 3 The Promise of Change: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    It was a cold morning, frost clinging to the grass and trees, and Milo rubbed his eyes. Sneaking out was hard. Michael was a light sleeper and woke to use the bathroom twice. He almost didn¡¯t make it out of the house and hid behind the kitchen counter for ten minutes while his little brother sleepily gulped down an extra large glass of water. No wonder he was always using the bathroom.


    Stretching his arms and rolling his neck, Milo tried to refocus on what was important. He made it to training with three minutes to spare, and <mark>Makler</mark> brought the toughest drill sergeants on the books. Winnie Hart was a woman with puckered lips and a stone-cold stare. He¡¯d heard rumors she scowled when she laughed and disemboweled anyone stupid enough to jump-scare her. Keeping his head on his shoulders and pushing himself while she barked down his throat would be no easy task, and by the looks of <mark>Makler</mark> jogging in place to warm himself up, he knew it, too.


    ¡°Remember, he¡¯s not one of yours. He¡¯s a kid. He has a lot of promise, Hart. We¡¯re just seeing how far that promise runs and if it¡¯s worth the time and effort. Understood, Sergeant?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She snapped, clean and crisp.


    ¡°At ease, Hart. This is informal, and we¡¯re keeping this quiet until we know what we¡¯re working with. Right, Stillwater?¡± <mark>Makler</mark> jutted his chin toward the boy.


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He bobbed his head.


    Winnie looked him over, the corner of her upper lip tugging up in subtle disgust. She hated the idea of working with a child and pandering to <mark>Makler¡¯s</mark> latest fancy. After the failure with the last four, she suspected he was growing desperate to find his future replacement. Why he couldn¡¯t settle for one of the higher ranks close to him was beyond her, and she knew better than to question his judgment. He¡¯d made wild calls before and led them to victories they never thought they¡¯d achieve. If it hadn¡¯t been for his leadership, the city out east wouldn¡¯t have the walls it had, and the protection of the outposts scattered around it.


    <mark>Makler</mark> was brilliant. He¡¯d helped establish sanctuaries in smaller cities like Holzberg and <mark>Westland</mark>. Even in this town, Bethany, he¡¯d helped them fortify and modernize their walls and weapons to perfection. The gods themselves would have to descend on the town if they wanted it. Not that there was much to want. Bethany had few resources and too many kids. It wasn¡¯t worth their time or effort. As much as Winnie didn¡¯t like children, she knew it was better for the town to be booming with them. They¡¯d all live longer. Those gods had a weird concept of morals and avoided exposing children to the horrors of combat if they could help it.


    Milo was barely a child, though. His shoulders were already squaring and if <mark>Makler</mark> hadn¡¯t said he was only fourteen, she would have thought he was older. Baby-faced, but sixteen at least for his height. She pressed her lips into a thin line as she watched the boy tighten his laces and kick his feet to check the knots. Training him wouldn¡¯t be easy. He was sloppy and lanky, and kids were emotional. The last thing she wanted was to listen to him cry when he scraped his knee. A real soldier under her command wouldn¡¯t dare shed a single tear and would be up faster than a cricket on coals.


    ¡°Are you ready, sport?¡± <mark>Makler</mark> set his hands on his hips, casual and kind despite his reputation.


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    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Milo chirped, his voice cracking.


    Winnie shut her eyes and breathed out an aggravated sigh. ¡°We¡¯ll start with a three-mile run. Try to keep up, kiddo.¡±


    ¡°Three miles? That¡¯s it?¡± He looked between the Commander-in-Chief and the drill sergeant.


    Winnie¡¯s eyebrows lifted, and her jaw tensed, and <mark>Makler</mark> turned his gaze to the ground. The sergeant puffed her chest and looked down her nose at Milo despite being the same height. ¡°Six miles.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± His eyes popped wide.


    ¡°Twelve.¡±


    Milo straightened, a shiver racing down his spine. He nodded and looked at <mark>Makler</mark>, finding not a drop of sympathy. Twelve miles was a long run, and twice as long as he¡¯d ever run before. She couldn¡¯t be serious. He turned back to meet her frozen stare. No, she was serious. Deathly serious. Milo¡¯s mouth went dry, words barely croaking out. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am, sorry, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Move!¡± she barked.


    ¡°Follow me. I¡¯ll take you on the first lap and then you¡¯re on your own.¡± <mark>Makler</mark> nodded toward the trail stretching over the field and into the dense trees.


    Winnie didn¡¯t wait for them, and she didn¡¯t slow her usual pace, either. <mark>Makler</mark>, though, kept at a steady jog to ensure Milo stayed at his side. For the first mile, they didn¡¯t say a word. It was partway through the second mile when <mark>Makler</mark> mentioned the circuit was a full three-mile lap. Milo¡¯s nose wrinkled, and he shook his head as he picked up speed. The sooner he finished four laps, the sooner he could move on to real training.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s the deal with you, Milo? Why do you want to go looking for trouble?¡± <mark>Makler</mark> asked as he quickened to keep up with the boy. ¡°Dave always said you were a good kid. Great with your brother.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not looking for trouble.¡± Milo huffed. ¡°I just want to make a difference.¡±


    ¡°And you think joining the local militia will do that?¡± <mark>Makler</mark> glanced over at him.


    Milo stared ahead, not daring to dignify the question with an answer. He knew the local militia wouldn¡¯t get him far, but it was a stepping stone. And by a chance miracle, he¡¯d stepped all the way over that stone and was in the prime place for where he wanted to be, with the Resistance.


    ¡°You¡¯re a smart kid, Milo.¡± <mark>Makler</mark> offered. ¡°What is it you think you can accomplish by fighting the Razen?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight the Razen,¡± he said with more confidence than he¡¯d earned. ¡°I want to stop them and give people a second chance to live.¡±


    ¡°And how do you plan to do that?¡±


    ¡°Everyone who has a strength has a weakness, right?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s one Horseman with a pretty obvious weakness. Famine. He has to have something to starve. He chokes the life out of plants and livestock, but if we could contain him where there weren¡¯t any plants or animals for him to kill, they¡¯d be short a god. They¡¯d be weaker. And it¡¯d be a matter of time before we found the weaknesses of the other three. I don¡¯t think we can stop them by force. It¡¯s never worked. I think we have to outsmart them.¡±


    ¡°Interesting.¡± A smile tugged on <mark>Makler¡¯s</mark> lips. Of all the kids he¡¯d taken under his wing, Milo was the first to think outside the box. Years ago he¡¯d realized the Resistance didn¡¯t have the physical prowess necessary to stop the Razen, to keep the world from ending, never mind bring an end to the reign of the gods who led the charge. He put time and money and heartache into finding new, creative ways to fight with fewer casualties. Mastering communication and miscommunication had gone a long way, but there was room for improvement, and what he saw in Milo was the promise of greater ideas, ones with the potential to change their fate. It was a miracle he¡¯d found the boy, and he was so eager to get started.


    ¡°I think,¡± Milo squeaked, short of breath, ¡°they¡¯re so focused on fighting, they forgot we¡¯re people. There¡¯s more to us, more to life, than killing each other.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an easy thing to forget, necessary even, when you¡¯re faced with the brutality of real combat. War is terrifying, Milo, and not what you think.¡± <mark>Makler</mark> sighed. ¡°Constant fear does things to a person and breaks them in ways that don¡¯t fix.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid.¡±


    ¡°You will be, Milo. We all are, in the end.¡±

 Chapter 245 (Chapter 4 Keeping Secrets and Peace: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    Michael wiped the sleep from his eyes, shuffling through the kitchen as the first glimpse of sunlight set the room aglow in soft orange and red. His long secondhand pajama pants dragged under his feet, and he yawned and stretched in front of the refrigerator. The tackiness of his mouth smacked as he licked his dry lips. It was too early for him to be up, but he was so thirsty he couldn¡¯t keep laying in bed hoping to fall back asleep.


    He pulled open the refrigerator door and stared inside as if a glass of water would appear without a second thought. After a slow, sleepy blink, he grabbed the cup of milk sitting front and center. He stared at the white liquid and then glanced back over his shoulder. No one was awake and no one would know the wiser. Sucking in a breath and focusing on his hands, a gold glow flowed from his wrist to his fingers and engulfed the cup. The milk churned and jostled and turned clear. Bubbles danced and the sweet smell of soda tickled his nose. Michael smiled, his shoulders sagging from the effort.


    To use the ability of miracles came at a price. It was tiring, and some warned it shortened his life. He didn¡¯t believe them. No one had ever died from changing a cup of milk into a soda. Michael turned, kicking the refrigerator shut, and sipped on the drink. People worried too much about everything. Not him, though. He was happy with his life. It was quiet and easy and nothing had ever once gone wrong. He was taken care of and he had the best big brother in the whole world. Milo never missed a single hug, drawing, or game Michael wanted to play.


    Sitting down on the floor by the cabinets, he pulled one open and fished around inside for the box of cookies he had hidden toward the back a few days earlier. If he was going to have a drink, it only made sense to settle the rumbling in his stomach, too. As he leaned farther in, footsteps padded down the hall and the kitchen door creaked. Michael sat back and turned around. Milo snatched a pastry from the bread box and stuck it in his mouth, then crammed his pockets full of fat tomatoes, a banana, and a few sticks of dried jerky from the jar on the counter. Shrugging his jacket higher on his shoulders, he glanced back at the hallway. No one was there. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Michael stared at him for a long moment before slapping the cabinet shut. Milo jumped back, hissing out a curse and clutching his chest.


    ¡°What are you doing out here? You¡¯re supposed to be in bed!¡± He crouched down beside his little brother.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Michael searched his face as worry filled his own.


    ¡°Out.¡± Milo pressed his lips into a line. He wanted to tell him but knew it was a sure way for his parents to find out, and they¡¯d be livid. He¡¯d hidden his training for eight months, making excuses for turning up late and all his extra studying. And it wasn¡¯t that he was lying, he just was omitting certain details. Most of the time, he was with Kelsey and <mark>Lukas</mark>, but if his parents found out that they were preparing to join the militia by training and studying for entrance exams, they¡¯d never let Milo see them again. And if he couldn¡¯t see them, his cover was as good as gone. ¡°I¡¯m meeting up for an early study session. Finals are coming and you know how mom worries about our grades, right <mark>Mikey</mark>?¡±


    Michael frowned. He hated when Milo called him ¡®<mark>Mikey</mark>¡¯, and he only did it when he had something to hide. It was a bad habit, and he noticed he did it with everyone. Kelsey became <mark>Kels</mark>, and <mark>Lukas</mark> became Lu. Even the neighbor, Brendan Filch became Bran as soon as Milo had a secret to keep. ¡°Where are you really going?¡±


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    He cringed, easing back to his heels. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you.¡±


    ¡°I can keep a secret.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never kept a single secret, ever.¡± Milo glared at him. ¡°You remember when we went to grandma¡¯s, and she took us shopping to get Mom and Dad presents for the holiday?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you got Mom a really pretty necklace! And grandma let me get that funny twirly hat for Dad.¡±


    ¡°And then you told them as soon as they came to pick us up.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. I forgot.¡±


    Milo chewed on the inside of his cheek. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to lie, and Michael would worry about him twice as much if he had to cover for him. ¡°I have training. Every morning. <mark>Makler¡¯s</mark> strict about it, but Sergeant Hart is even worse if I¡¯m late.¡±


    ¡°<mark>Makler</mark>?¡± Michael scrunched his nose. He¡¯d heard of him before and their father made no effort to hide his personal disdain for his presence and the work he was putting into the militia. It made him wary of what was coming and more vocal than usual with every new shortage steadily choking the town. ¡°Are you part of the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Resistance,¡± Milo supplied, turning his eyes to the floor and picking at the fabric of his pants. ¡°If I pass the exams at the end of the month, I¡¯ll start as an officer in the militia, under Resistance command.¡±


    ¡°How? I thought you had to be sixteen to join.¡± Michael scooted closer. ¡°Mom¡¯s going to be really mad, Milo.¡±


    ¡°Mom¡¯s not going to know.¡± His green eyes flashed a wicked, unspoken threat. The fractals of gold sparkled in his darkened leer.


    Michael nodded and dropped his head. If there was one thing he knew above all else, was that Milo kept his promises. And if that promise was to string him up by his shoelaces for being a tattle-tale, wearing nothing but socks wouldn¡¯t be enough to save him. Milo breathed out, set a hand on his brother¡¯s shoulder, and gave a soft squeeze of thanks. Michael looked up, sadness covering his face. ¡°What if you have to fight the Razen? Dad said they¡¯re really close.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll protect you from them, no matter what.¡± Milo smiled, as confident as he could.


    ¡°Promise?¡±


    ¡°I promise. No matter what, I will protect you from the Razen. They won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    Michael nodded, tears welling and a smile fighting to take over from his downtrodden frown. He launched forward, wrapping his arms around his brother and burying his face against him. It was one thing knowing their dad kept a gun around in case the worst happened, but it was another to have Milo watching over him. Milo was braver than anyone else, and the way he used his ability was unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen before. He was able to make incredible things happen, and as far as Michael was concerned, his brother had the greatest ability of them all. He created the best miracles. And he hoped one day he would be even half as good as his brother. Maybe he could even use his ability to change their fates, too.


    Milo pulled back and ruffled his brother¡¯s wavy, dark auburn hair. ¡°You should get back to bed. And stop eating all the cookies.¡±


    ¡°I was hungry!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to get a stomachache for that sugar.¡± Milo chuckled as he rose to his feet and dusted off. It was getting late and the last thing he wanted was to earn extra laps and have Sergeant Hart annoyed with him all morning for keeping her waiting. ¡°Anyway, I¡¯ll see you at the diner after school. And remember, no telling.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a secret.¡± Michael beamed, delighted his brother, at last, trusted him. This time, he wouldn¡¯t mess up. He wouldn¡¯t tell anyone even if they tickled him so hard he puked, or offered him a thousand of his favorite treats.


    ¡°Good.¡± Milo nodded, hoping with all his heart his brother would keep his mouth shut. He turned away and headed for the door. His fate was in Michael¡¯s hands, and if he screwed up, Milo was as good as dead.

 Chapter 246 (Chapter 5 Dead Inside: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

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 Chapter 247 (Chapter 6 All for One: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    For days on end, Milo couldn¡¯t stop thinking about the rotation camp. Every book he opened was a steadfast reminder of the consequences of the seemingly good intentions written on those pages. Worse, was how it hadn¡¯t deterred him from studying and showing up early for training. Those people needlessly suffered for the sake of gods playing a game with mortals they didn¡¯t understand. They were cruel and ignorant of what potential lived within the people left in the world. Milo¡¯s stomach turned over as he pushed the thoughts and closet door aside. He grabbed the broom and dustpan and moved on to the next task on his father¡¯s near-endless list of chores he¡¯d left for him. Milo fixed his apron and started behind the counter.


    Kelsey licked the ketchup from her fingers, and dusting off her palms, she sat back in the booth seat, her stomach bulging full from a double patty burger and a heaping stack of fries. Across from her, <mark>Lukas</mark> gnawed on a dripping chicken wing, slathered in thick buffalo sauce, as he muttered through what he was reading from the militia front guard handbook. It was the newest edition, distributed by the Resistance to anyone interested in joining. While Milo had read it and almost had the whole thing memorized, <mark>Lukas</mark> was struggling to survive through chapter twelve. It wasn¡¯t hard to read, but for <mark>Lukas</mark>, it felt like the end of the line. If he couldn¡¯t survive that chapter, there was no hope for him.


    Milo shuffled around the counter, sweeping up the debris from sloppy spills and careless customers, people who lackadaisically went about their day knowing naught of what the Resistance and militia sacrificed for them. It was worth a lot more than a handful of fries and drips of mustard. Milo groaned at the sight of the stains. Tuesdays were always slow, but the mess from lunch stayed put until his shift started. Despite her efforts, his mom couldn¡¯t take even five minutes to clean up when she barely had time to catch her breath between the diner and her other two jobs. Working the produce stand from the local garden and apprenticing as a seamstress was more time-consuming than she¡¯d realized. But they had to make ends meet. There were no more imports from other towns, and what scant resources they produced on their own weren¡¯t enough to keep the population of Bethany booming. People were leaving, and it meant the money was too, even with the pay from the Resistance. The evaporating economy led Milo¡¯s dad to take up hunting for food and selling the fur for the coming winter. Of course, there wasn¡¯t much to hunt, either.


    Animals were leaving in droves. But who could blame them? Reports of raging fires came in from passing travelers, and they were closer every day. His parents and Michael weren¡¯t worried, and neither were most people. They felt safe with the presence of the Resistance and growing militia regardless of their whispered chastising of how little they did most days. Between the wall and the soldiers, it brought a small sense of hope back into their town. Even Milo, stuffing away wads of cash from his work as an officer under both militia and Resistance, was starting to believe the impossible was possible. Though doubt clung to him as he watched the strays dig at the southern walls, and birds migrate never to return, Milo wanted to hold on to any glimmer of optimism he could find. He wanted the same innocence he saw in his brother¡¯s eyes when he talked about the future. But his innocence was gone. It¡¯d been gone since <mark>Makler</mark> took him to that damned camp and he saw the soldier who¡¯d served on the front line.


    He couldn¡¯t help but replay it in his head; how at first glance, there was nothing unusual about them. They sat around chatting and playing cards, uniformed and tired. They wore bands around their arms with insignia to show their unit and function like anyone else in any other camp. Some had pins and badges on their lapels to indicate specific rank, while many others were corporals, foot soldiers, without any markings besides their bands. More than once during the excursion, <mark>Makler</mark> explained the different units, the Battle Corps and Support Corps, and the way they worked together and the subcategories within them. He laughed, assuring Milo not to worry too much about where he would fall. He wasn¡¯t a man cut out for either. No, Milo was special and meant to lead. It almost seemed as though he didn¡¯t see what Milo had in that camp as he threw his arm around him, dragging him and clapping his shoulder, and guided him farther along after the nightmare in the medical area.


    It was there Milo saw the reality of what was coming. War was so terrible, surviving became hell and death offered little salvation. And try as he may to forget it, the memory haunted him. Those bulging, unblinking eyes of trembling soldiers rocking on the edge of their cots sent a vicious chill up Milo¡¯s spine. Especially the one he¡¯d never forget. He¡¯d stopped beside the man whose eyes were as round as saucers and stared at the wall, his mouth dangling agape. Blinking, he jerked back and turned his unhinged stare to Milo. His chin quivered, and he lifted an unsteady finger. Behind his pupils, flashes of silver and gold danced and disappeared like smoke in the wind.


    ¡°I told you, I didn¡¯t want to do this¡­¡± His crusty lips flapped and smacked as he choked on a breath, as if crying, but not a single tear ran down his cheeks. The man turned back to the wall, slow and cranking as if he were a machine grinding against rusted joints as he moaned and groaned like a dying man on the floor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind him,¡± <mark>Makler</mark> said, waving a hand at the rest of the room, ¡°or any of these guys. They¡¯re a new type of soldier, recently discovered. Right around the time we met, General Kepler identified one. He said he stopped and stared off into nothing for, oh, what was it? Twenty, twenty-five minutes? Anyway, when he came back, he spouted about a battle and how they barely made it out when the west flank collapsed in on itself. It was an unexpected weak point and if it weren¡¯t for that, they wouldn¡¯t have survived. And they took heavy casualties by the end of the day.


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    ¡°General Kepler was sure his soldier was cracking from the stress, but when they went out and engaged the Razen, well,¡± <mark>Makler</mark> ran his hand through the back of his hair, ¡°if that west flank hadn¡¯t fallen apart when it did, we¡¯d have more boxes to ship back to families. Kepler took his soldier aside and started recording everything he saw. Sure enough, he was having prophetic visions. Pretty soon, I had a stack of papers on my desk, almost as tall as myself, of people having these visions. These people aren¡¯t good for combat. The visions are hard, too hard, to control and they end up dying. We don¡¯t have many of them left. I don¡¯t want to lose any more of them.¡±


    With a sordid huff, <mark>Makler</mark> led the way through the rest of the medical unit and passed through the recovery room. There were rows and rows of injured and burned. Milo kept his head down. The rippled, bubbled flesh and limbs torn at odd angles made his stomach flip. They paid a steep price protecting humanity, or what remained of it. Milo clenched his fists at his sides then, as he did on the broom in the diner.


    He paused and pressed his lips into a tight line. It wasn¡¯t fair, but few things in life ever were. Kneeling on the floor, he swept the debris into a dustpan and took it to the garbage behind the counter. Kelsey groaned and slapped her hands on the table. She shook her head, her fiery curls tossing back and forth as she crinkled her stubby freckled nose in disgust.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about!¡± Her upper lip curled.


    ¡°It¡¯s right here, black and white, Kelsey.¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> thumped his finger against the open manual. His almond eyes narrowed. ¡°You can tell me all day you qualify for the Battle Corps, but you¡¯re a healer. You¡¯re going to the Support Corps. There are no two ways around it.¡±


    Milo leaned on the counter, setting the broom aside. It was a good thing the diner was empty. The last thing he needed was for his parents to hear from a friend of a friend about his other job. ¡°Healers who qualify for the Battle Corps can join, but you¡¯ll make more in the Support Corps.¡±


    Kelsey whipped round and glared at him. ¡°You think my place is Support? You¡¯re kidding, right?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll keep you off the front line, <mark>Kels</mark>.¡± He frowned, gaze slipping down to the slick polished counter. Picking at the corner of the stack of menus, he breathed a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling. ¡°The front line¡¯s dangerous. It¡¯s everyone for themselves when you get down to it. At least if you¡¯re in Support, I can protect¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to protect me, Milo,¡± she snapped. ¡°We¡¯re not kids anymore! I¡¯m going to be seventeen in two weeks. Two weeks! And between the two of you,¡± she wagged a finger between them, ¡°I¡¯m the fastest runner, swimmer, and best mid-range archer. And if you guys would just help me with sword handling instead of beating each other into the ground, I¡¯d probably be better than both of you at that, too.¡±


    Milo looked up, his green eyes catching hers as he shook his head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if you¡¯re the fastest or strongest at anything if you can¡¯t pass the entrance exams. At least <mark>Lukas</mark> is studying.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you passed these,¡± he admitted, defeated before he even tried.


    ¡°You can take them three times,¡± Kelsey rolled her eyes and sat back. ¡°I figure if I fail the first time, then I¡¯ll know what to study and I won¡¯t waste half as much time.¡±


    Milo¡¯s brows raised. It was clear she didn¡¯t know there were multiple versions. But that was Kelsey, tenacious and unwilling to listen to anyone about anything. He turned away and decided not to tell her. If she failed enough times, he wouldn¡¯t have to worry about her trying to get into the Battle Corps or risking her life in the Support Corps. She wouldn¡¯t be able to join at all. And she¡¯d be safe. They¡¯d have another summer together, another fall and winter, and maybe years if he was lucky. He¡¯d take leave time and spend it with her, enjoying the sparkle in her amber eyes as she laughed, and go out of his way to make her smile when she had nothing but complaints about her older brother ruining her day again.


    Of course, he¡¯d also have to tell her how he felt about her, and the thought of doing that made every hair stand on end. Kelsey was far from gentle or approachable by most people¡¯s standards, and there was a chance he would make a fool of himself. She¡¯d laugh at him and punch him in the arm, thinking he was joking. <mark>Lukas</mark> swore it was her way of handling embarrassment. Milo wasn¡¯t sure. It seemed like a good way to reaffirm she saw him as a friend and nothing else.


    Sliding into the booth beside her, Milo snatched the manual from <mark>Lukas</mark>. ¡°Look, this manual isn¡¯t that different from the old one. It just takes into account the other perspectives. The old one was more focused on the Battle Corps. This one goes in-depth with the Support Corps and other smaller units.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± Kelsey huffed, folding her arms. ¡°More pointless drivel. If you ask me, knowing about our defenses doesn¡¯t help much in real battle. You have to study the enemy.¡±


    Milo¡¯s jaw tensed as he glanced over at her. Where he¡¯d once seen beauty in her carefree recklessness, he found himself watching the blossoming of ignorant bliss. Worry swelled in his chest and he forced it down as he kept quiet on the matter. Arguing with her was senseless. Her mind was made up and the best he could do was keep pace with her and hope nothing went wrong. And if it did, and she ended up locked in a shed or her bike twisted from the jump she swore she could make but didn¡¯t, he¡¯d be there to help her.


    ¡°You know,¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> started as he fingered the straw of his milkshake, and slurped down a mouthful of the thick strawberry treat, ¡°the wall guards make the best money of anyone. If I pass the entrance exams, that¡¯s where I want to be and nothing¡¯s going to stop me from getting there.¡±


    ¡°Except maybe the physical exams.¡± Kelsey chuckled.


    ¡°He¡¯ll pass,¡± Milo muttered as he flipped through the pages.

 Chapter 248 (Chapter 7 Grown Too Fast: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    The papers slapped down. Dave gripped the sides of his hair as if determined to pull it out and then dropped his fists on the table. Michael shifted in his seat, his lips shut tight as he glanced back and forth between his father and where Milo was leaning against the sink. He hadn¡¯t said a word about where Milo went in the mornings for what felt like his entire life. And he¡¯d done the right thing for his brother and left snacks for him to take. He took them most mornings. When he remembered. Still, his silence wasn¡¯t enough to save his brother from the inevitable. The truth came out.


    Eleanor opened the envelope, thinking it was the same recruiting packet as all the other families received, only to find it was a letter of orders from the top of the militia endorsed by Theodore <mark>Makler</mark>, himself. After two years of success as an officer, and his quick rise in rank under mentorship, he was required to serve alongside the men he was in charge of on the outer wall. It was a short, eight-month assignment, and they granted him overnight home leave twice per week, due to his age. Eleanor could hardly form words when she¡¯d brought the letter to Dave and ran out of the kitchen sobbing.


    ¡°The militia, Milo?¡± He stared at his oldest son, gritting his teeth.


    ¡°They¡¯re more of a military now,¡± Milo muttered, staring at his feet.


    ¡°How many people knew about this?¡± He tapped his finger on the letter, every muscle tense, from his reddened ears to his toes.


    ¡°I knew,¡± Michael perked up.


    ¡°I¡¯ll deal with you later, boy.¡± He shot a dark glare at his youngest son and scooped up the papers. Crossing the room, he knocked them in his palm, straightening the edges. ¡°I hope you¡¯re proud of yourself; making your mother cry.¡± His jaw churned as his emerald eyes darkened with disgust. ¡°Do you know why I keep that gun around, son? You think I like it so much I carry it even when I¡¯m not hunting?¡± He jutted the letters towards the opposite wall. ¡°One day those walls are coming down and those sticks and stones the Resistance calls weapons won¡¯t stop them. That¡¯s why I keep it. To defend us! And what do you do? You lie on papers and get your ass recruited into the militia!¡±


    ¡°Resistance,¡± Milo corrected, not daring to look up.


    ¡°The Resistance?¡± He threw his arms out and turned around with an exasperated groan. Cackling to himself, more from heartbreak than humor, Dave hung his head and sniffled. Rubbing his wrist across his nose, he tossed the papers aside and headed toward the living room. ¡°You¡¯re going to be the death of us all.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t mean that,¡± Michael said as he watched their father slink away, looking for his wife.


    ¡°I know.¡± Milo shoved away from the sink and took a seat at the table across from his brother. He set a finger on the die-cast car and scooted it back and forth. ¡°You remember when there were cars and mom used to drive us out for picnics up on hills at the <mark>Dalemont</mark> farm?¡±


    ¡°Sort of,¡± he shrugged.


    ¡°It was great. I used to stick my hand out the window, and you always pretended you were driving in the car seat. I guess you were too young to remember that.¡± He looked up with a half-smile. ¡°It was a lot more fun than trying to get holiday lights down in the diner.¡±


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    ¡°Those things are never coming down.¡± Michael¡¯s eyes widened, and he shook his head in dismay. With the shortages, only businesses had electricity. One hot summer, the generator malfunctioned and kicked on the heating system while the diner was closed. By the time anyone showed up, it was an oven, and the plastic strings of lights twinkling along the edges of walls melted into place. What they meant as a summer gimmick, Christmas in July, became a permanent fixture no matter how hard they scraped and picked at the melted lines.


    ¡°Probably not.¡± Milo stilled the car and tapped its roof in thought. ¡°Anyway, Mike¡ªMichael. Mom and Dad aren¡¯t angry, they¡¯re just worried. There¡¯s been a lot of rumors going around about the Razen again. You know how they get when that happens. Mom starts gardening and Dad goes through the cellar inventory until two in the morning.


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame them for being upset. It¡¯s scary to think about how close they are, but you have to remember we¡¯re safe. You and me, Michael. We don¡¯t have anything to worry about. Even when the Razen come, I can take them. And Kelsey and <mark>Lukas</mark> are on the wall, too. My unit is the strongest and most competent the Resistance has raised in Bethany since they got here. The Razen have no clue what they¡¯re up against.¡±


    ¡°What if they get through the wall?¡± Michael shrunk in his seat, swinging his legs.


    ¡°Then you have to be smart.¡± Milo leaned forward. ¡°You go get my backpack from the closet and get outside. The Razen burn everything down and if you hide in the house, you¡¯re toast. Go out the south gate and head for Summit. There are a bunch of Resistance camps on the way. Tell them where you came from and what happened. They¡¯ll understand. And I¡¯ll be able to find you faster.¡±


    ¡°Do you think that¡¯ll happen?¡± Michael¡¯s brows pressed up as he stared at his older brother.


    Milo turned his attention to the door as if expecting someone. He didn¡¯t want to tell him the truth or make him worry. He wanted Michael to be ready and not think too much about it when the day came and he had no choice but to run. The Razen were coming. Scouting reports were closer together than ever before. A month ago, it was days before they heard anything. In the last week, it was a matter of hours. Sure, relays were getting faster with more enlisted, but the reports were coming in too close together. At the top of the walls, at the peak points, soldiers could see the billows of smoke rising over the trees.


    Animals were acting up in the worst ways. He and <mark>Lukas</mark> watched a stray dog bash its head into the wall as it dug at the ground to escape. Cleaning up the blood and scrawny body was disgusting, but they couldn¡¯t leave it there. Nor could they leave the bodies of all the other strays who¡¯d beaten their brains out and scratched at the wall until their paws were bloodied nubs. What made an animal so desperate to run away, it killed itself trying? And why weren¡¯t people that desperate? Maybe they were, though. Maybe that was why so many left Bethany in the last few years. They could sense what was coming, too. And they knew to be afraid.


    Milo, though, was sure he wasn¡¯t and he wouldn¡¯t turn tail and run. He was a soldier, trained and prepared for the worst. And the people he commanded were loyal and skilled. <mark>Makler</mark> taught him everything he knew and gave him extra work. Milo surpassed him in almost everything, lacking only front-line experience to be worthy of sitting at the Commander-in-Chief¡¯s right hand, primed to take his place one day. Soon, that would change. The fires of the Razen would burn through the fields outside Bethany and kiss their walls. The Razen would fight with all they had to take the town, and they would fail. He could already see it, the victory of defeating the army from hell. The thought of it made his entire chest feel as if it were glowing with excitement and pride. One day, sooner than he realized, he would face them. The Razen. War. And he was certain he was ready and he could win.

 Chapter 249 (Chapter 8 When The Animals Were Gone: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    <mark>Lukas</mark> tossed a handful of dried fruit into his mouth, grinding them slowly, and sat on the top rung of the fence<s>s</s> lining the outer circle of the business district. His fatigues were too long and the hemming to make them fit tilted at a slight angle with the wrong thread color. If there were more resources and money, it would have been a problem. However, not even the surplus caravans could get within ten miles of the border. No one wanted to talk about it, but the dread lurked behind unblinking eyes and stiff posture when anyone acknowledged what they didn¡¯t have and couldn¡¯t get. The ticking of the clock was growing louder, and, for Bethany, it was nearly midnight.


    <mark>Lukas</mark> jerked back, wincing at the loud crack as the goat snapped its stumped horn against the wall. The poor thing was from a farm up the road. And if he had to guess, the three cows, a handful of ducks, and almost thirty chickens had come from the same place. There was even a turtle. All but the one goat had killed itself trying to get through the wall. <mark>Lukas</mark> licked his fingers clean, sighed, and reached for the <mark>skinner</mark> knife he¡¯d carried since his family started hunting five years back. It was the first knife he¡¯d ever had, and it¡¯d served him well. Hopefully, it would serve the goat, too. It didn¡¯t deserve a painful death by blunt force trauma. If he¡¯d shown up sooner, he would have helped the other animals, and they wouldn¡¯t have suffered either.


    ¡°Nice knife,¡± Milo interrupted as the goat continued to clobber itself against the stone. ¡°My mom carries the same one around, but hers has this nice turquoise handle. Birthstone, I think. My dad had it made for her.¡±


    ¡°No kidding,¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> breathed and grabbed the goat by its remaining horn. With the swift ease of experience, he cut its throat, deep and broad, and dumped the slain animal to the ground. He smeared the blood off on the side of his dark pants. Without looking up at his friend, he returned it to the sheath at his side. ¡°You know, you should really tell your dad he¡¯s the laughingstock carrying that double barrel around all the time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve tried.¡± Milo heaved a sigh, setting his hands on his hips, exhausted from all the times he explained to his parents how useless their choices of weapons were against the Razen. The Resistance had dark blades made from a strange compound of crystals and metals, and they were the only thing that worked. Whisperers, though they were few, claimed the compound had a frequency about it, like the opposite notes of a song, and they could break the threads of the Razen, like tearing a cloth in half, and send them to their graves. Milo didn¡¯t wholly believe it. He¡¯d seen and met with so many survivors of the front line, and not one of them talked about music. It was always the torment of hearing the screams that kept them awake at night. Those guttural groans and wails of death followed them and they never knew peace again.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Kelsey?¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> looked around, his short, choppy hair catching the gusty breeze as he held a hand over his brow, shielding his eyes from the midday sun.


    ¡°Babysitting before she has to be at her post.¡± Milo gnawed at the inside of his cheek.


    ¡°So, what are you doing here?¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> chuckled. ¡°Go help her babysit! Maybe even tell her you like her.¡±


    ¡°What? No.¡± Milo turned away, his jaw set tight. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m on duty. <mark>Makler</mark> sent me to survey the livestock situation after the reports from <mark>Dalemont</mark> farms came in yesterday. Animals were rotting and dying.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what happens when they die and you don¡¯t clean them up.¡±


    ¡°No, they were rotting before they died, and faster after. They were all rancid or petrified within an hour.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not right¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, and <mark>Makler</mark> wants full details about all the animals, stat. Strays included.¡±


    <mark>Lukas</mark> looked over his shoulder at the corpses lining the wall. ¡°What animals?¡± He turned back around, his eyes weary and sagging. ¡°This was all the rest of them. They came down from the farm in a hurry. My mom said she saw them and told me I should probably figure out where they were going. So I followed the goat here. He was pretty clumsy and old. I¡¯m surprised he couldn¡¯t keep up with the chickens.¡± He glanced back at the dead beast and frowned, shaking his head at the pitiful sight. ¡°I¡¯ll start working on clean up.¡±


    Milo bobbed his head and turned back toward the street. He didn¡¯t wait for <mark>Lukas</mark> and didn¡¯t bother saying goodbye. They¡¯d see each other again soon at the northern wall. He was in charge of the ten units stationed on it, and it was his first day on the outside. It was an enormous responsibility, but after a month and a half of shadowing <mark>Makler</mark> from the interior, his mentor was sure he could handle the station on the other side. The Razen were close, but not close enough to worry. Yet.


    As he walked through town, he tried his best not to notice the dark storefronts and boarded-up homes. People were leaving, and too many were coming back, unable to escape and unwilling to explain why. In his gut, Milo knew <mark>Makler</mark> was wrong. There was less time than the story he was selling. Of course, he also understood why it was important to make people believe they were safe. Fear was dangerous and a fast-spreading disease. It made people do only one of two things. It made them brave, courageous, and willing to do what they needed to for the sake of others. Or it made them desperate. And desperation was the ruin of many great men. It was the lowest a person could sink and the death of the moral compass.


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    Milo couldn¡¯t imagine what sort of nightmare hellscape could bring a man to his knees and strip him of his humanity, and make him do things he would have never done, to sacrifice himself to the flames of abhorrent self-preservation at all costs; and he was sure he would never allow himself to fall so low. He was a better man than that, and he knew himself well enough to be confident about who he¡¯d become. Among many things, he would be a great leader. Maybe even better than <mark>Makler</mark>. And one day he¡¯d bring both renewed hope and a future to the world. Though it was small, it wasn¡¯t gone and he could save them.


    Stopping at the corner as Resistance horses trotted by, the <mark>calvary</mark> on its way to the western wall for rotation, Milo sucked in a long, slow breath. The swirling scent of metal danced in his nose and curled over his tongue. His skin prickled, hotter than ever. For two years, he¡¯d hidden his ability from the militia, Resistance, and <mark>Makler</mark>. There was no sense in anyone knowing when he couldn¡¯t control it, and it acted up on its own at random. Clenching his fists, he pushed down the tingling beneath the surface. It was like he was teeming with electric excitement, but it wasn¡¯t him. It was the ability. And it was getting stronger and more frequent every day. Milo breathed out, his chest deflating and the ability cooling as it retreated back to wherever it had risen from.


    He crossed the street and hurried on his way. Though he wanted to stop at the house on the corner and visit Kelsey for even a moment, there wasn¡¯t time to spare. <mark>Makler</mark> was expecting him back, and the faint scent of smoke in the air and rolling overcast was a warning of what was to come. And it was coming too soon. Milo trotted around the next bend and then up the steps of the office building where the Commander-in-Chief had spent most of the morning. The generals and colonels and people of importance were shuffling through and collecting their orders. Anyone with half a brain knew it wasn¡¯t typical behavior. They were preparing for the Razen to descend, and the fight after.


    <mark>Makler</mark> shook General Donovan¡¯s hand and clapped his shoulder as he bid him best wishes. Sergeant Hart stood at his side with a stack of folders looking worse for wear. The newly enlisted kept her so busy, Milo hadn¡¯t seen her in days. He almost felt bad for her, but then he remembered running twelve miles because he hadn¡¯t taken her seriously when they first met. She made him a better soldier, and lazy enlistees made her a better sergeant. They challenged her, and while most would succumb to the relentless apathy she had for their opinions and woes, and reduce their demands, it made Winnie all the more determined to break the weak like brittle autumn twigs. Her eyes darted to Milo, her usual scowl softening as she nudged <mark>Makler</mark>.


    ¡°Milo!¡± He called, holding out his arms and strolling across the open hall. ¡°You¡¯re back. What did you find?¡± His hand thumped down on his shoulders.


    Tipping his chin in to look down at the Commander-in-Chief, his brow furrowed and he searched for the right words to say. ¡°There¡¯s not a lot to tell, sir. The animals are dead.¡±


    ¡°All of them?¡± The cheery disposition melted away, and <mark>Makler</mark> stepped back as Milo nodded. He swallowed hard and hummed, checking over his shoulder for Winnie. He ran a hand over his face. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    ¡°Corporal Kim confirmed the last animals were at the southern wall. All deceased.¡±


    ¡°Send some to the new privates for clean-up detail, Winnie,¡± <mark>Makler</mark> said without much more than a glance of his eyes in her direction.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she confirmed, straightening and raising her chin.


    Milo lifted his gaze to meet <mark>Makler¡¯s</mark> in silent question. The hallway wasn¡¯t the place to ask what it meant for the animals to be dead, the birds to be gone, the townsfolk to leave and return in dismay, and all imports and exports stilled. He didn¡¯t have to ask what the smoke behind the trees meant, and everything inside told him the reports he was feeding <mark>Makler</mark> day after day for the better part of the year weren¡¯t busywork after all. The Commander-in-Chief dropped his head and rocked back on his heels. Winnie glanced between them and then turned on her toes with a snap. She shoved through the stairwell door and disappeared. <mark>Makler</mark> looked up at his apprentice, the finest protege he¡¯d raised, and frowned.


    ¡°Come with me, we need to talk,¡± he said, nodding down the hall towards the large office at the end.


    A shiver ran up Milo¡¯s spine. The only other time he¡¯d ever been to that office was when he was debriefed on the exact location of the Razen and the estimated time Bethany had left before the invasion would begin. <mark>Makler</mark> didn¡¯t sugarcoat a single detail. The Resistance was strong, but they¡¯d never saved an entire town. Bethany had better walls than most and he hoped this time would be different. And with the eagerness of the people who lived within the walls to enlist with the militia, there was hope. Still, the Razen were ruthless. They were unlike anything Milo would ever face again. If they breached the walls, the fight wouldn¡¯t be for Bethany. It would be to escape, to survive, and take the knowledge gained to the Resistance and use it to prepare for the next fight. And they would keep fighting for humanity until they either won or died trying.


    <mark>Makler</mark> led Milo into the office and shut the door. His slow steps offered no comfort as he twisted the wedding band on his finger. He¡¯d never spoken of a wife, and when he fiddled with the ring, his face filled with sadness he couldn¡¯t bring himself to tell anyone about. Stopping in front of the window, he stared out at the people in the town like a king surveying his land. With a huff of laughter, he turned back around to Milo.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be frank with you, boy.¡± He started, coming around the long table in the middle and adjusting his cuffs, an anxious habit. ¡°I never had any boys of my own, but in the past two years, you¡¯ve been like a son. I had big dreams for you and hoped you¡¯d take my place one day, but we¡¯re at the end before we¡¯ve even started. What¡¯s coming over the hills¡­¡± He looked down, his forehead crinkling as he raised his brows. ¡°Well, it¡¯s the end of the line for us. So, if you have anyone you want to say goodbye to, you have two days at most. Do what you need to settle with it.¡±


    His hand fell on Milo¡¯s shoulder as a thin apology. Milo pressed his lips into a hard line. <mark>Makler</mark> was not a man who accepted defeat. He never talked about anything with such hopelessness and resignation. ¡°What¡¯s coming?¡±


    <mark>Makler</mark> froze, his gaze too distant to read. ¡°War.¡±

 Chapter 250 (Chapter 9 Good Night: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    Sleeping on the barracks¡¯ cots was torture. Not real torture, but it could have been if they added shards of glass and rusted nails to every mattress to compliment the ones with bedbugs and the others with half-uncoiled springs that made the most horrendous noise with even the slightest shift. And that, the latter, was Milo¡¯s cot. The first day on the wall had been uneventfully unnerving. The smoke on the horizon hadn¡¯t moved, and the scouts had nothing to report. <mark>Makler</mark> kept to himself, hidden away in his office praying to whatever god he thought would listen and stop the ones destroying the world. Milo knew none of the other gods cared.


    It was strange, there being gods. A pantheon. And their names were no more known than where the hours of the afternoon had gone. The only gods anyone knew for absolute certain were the four, the Horsemen who¡¯d come from¡­well, no one actually knew where they¡¯d come from. They come down from the sky, and maybe they¡¯d been there the entire time. Or maybe they¡¯d secretly <mark>dwelled</mark> in the sea, in the deepest and darkest waters. Or maybe they¡¯d crawled and clawed their way from the bowels of hell itself and took to the skies to announce their arrival. Either way, they rode down <s>on</s> their enemies¡ªanyone alive qualified, a solid heartbeat and will to live sufficed¡ªand brought them either to their knees or to death. It didn¡¯t seem to matter to them which happened as long as there was a conclusion to their efforts.


    Gods, the fearless destroyers, devoid of empathy and meaning beyond chaos and ruin. Milo rolled over with a huff, the cot squealing its protests, and tried to keep his eyes shut. They weren¡¯t heavy enough to obey. Staring at the wall, tracing the line of brick, he wondered if the gods slept. Or did they, like him, lay awake making friends with the crickets and simple architecture, wondering what it would be like to be on the other side of things?


    To be a god would be terrible, Milo reasoned. The whole of their existence, infinite as it may be, lacked much more than a singular purpose. As far as he understood, there were gods for all manners of things. Elements, storms, emotions, colors, sensations, seasons, and fates. <mark>Lukas</mark> had found a handsome stack of books on it. There was a god whose entire purpose was to watch over the orchard of the underworld, which was a sort of afterlife. And there was one of sincere love who punished those for their insincerity and another who reigned over stupidity. In Milo¡¯s opinion, those two were the same with different names. Kelsey was quick to disagree and point out the obvious and wretched truth to their musings over which god did what. They didn¡¯t know if any of those other gods existed. The only ones they knew of for sure were the ones in the world now, wreaking havoc and chaos for their own splendor.


    Milo groaned and shoved himself up from his squeaky bed. There was no sleeping. Between the snores of overworked soldiers and the endless churning in his mind, and all the things he hadn¡¯t finished from the day, he wouldn¡¯t get an hour of sleep even if he tried. Leaving his cot behind, he trudged down the long rows of beds and headed into the hall. No one else was awake, and he didn¡¯t have it in him to remedy the situation. And so, Milo dragged his feet and wandered outside to where the sky was bright beneath a silver moon and the blue shadows seemed to stretch on forever.


    Outside the wall, a place he hadn¡¯t seen since before Michael was born, was beautiful. The grass waved with the wind, the little clovers bobbing against tall blades, and the distant gurgle of the river was one of the few sounds in the quiet night. Milo stared out at the open field, watching the fireflies dance up and twirl around each other. The cool air kissed his cheeks. He could have stayed there for an eternity, and yet those few moments were eternity enough.


    ¡°Milo?¡± Her voice broke the still silence. ¡°What are you doing up?¡±


    He turned. Kelsey folded her arms over, a shiver rocking through her and her stubbornness hiding it as if it changed anything. She scooped back her red curls and tossed them over her shoulder. Milo looked down at the ground, kicking it with the toe of his shoe. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep.¡±


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    ¡°That¡¯s been a real problem lately.¡±


    ¡°Restless mind, I guess.¡±


    ¡°No kidding.¡± She stopped and leaned on the tree, staring out at the distant hill. There was no doubt the Razen would come down over it, tomorrow or the next day if they were lucky. But luck was not something anyone had. It was something they made. Luck was the product of taking advantage of opportunities and seeing it to the end, and always hoping for the best. Or, at least, that¡¯s what Kelsey thought. ¡°Do you think we stand a chance?¡±


    ¡°They stopped a few miles out, and as far as the scouts have assessed, they¡¯re redirecting toward the northeast to cut off larger supply routes to <mark>Baseel</mark>. It¡¯s one of the only cities left. It makes sense for them to shift their focus in that direction.¡±


    ¡°But?¡±


    Milo frowned, eyes lifting to meet hers and finding she was quick to look away. ¡°But,¡± he said slowly, ¡°they¡¯ve been on course to Bethany for months¡­we have something they want.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Not enough children.¡±


    ¡°What does that have to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of young soldiers. And they¡¯ve¡ªwe¡¯ve never seen a day of battle. War. We¡¯re what they want. The weak ones will turn. The rest either die or live long enough that they wish they did.¡±


    Kelsey scoffed, turning away. ¡°You¡¯re so jaded. You¡¯ve spent too much time in those exterior camps playing Commander with <mark>Makler</mark>. If you ask me,¡± she shot him a dark, teasing, glare, ¡°and I know you haven¡¯t, but I think you¡¯ve lost sight of what matters.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t,¡± he said, watching her carefully as if she were a half-second from punching him in the arm or gut the way she usually did.


    ¡°The Razen are going to come for us, and everyone else. Tomorrow, the next day, eventually. It doesn¡¯t matter when. It¡¯s inevitable.¡± She forced a quick smile and then looked down, pressing her lips in. ¡°They¡¯ll come. But we can¡¯t lower ourselves to their cruelty. We have to keep sight of what we¡¯re fighting for. Our homes, our families, the people we love¡­¡±


    ¡°Our lives,¡± Milo offered, not as a suggestion or addition to what she said but as a conclusion. They were fighting for their lives. To live. To experience every moment they could with whatever time they had, and take pleasure in the small things like fireflies dancing over the open fields, and the big things like the holidays where friends and family gathered around a too-small table and bickered over politics, news, and money. Inevitably, those things didn¡¯t matter and the merriment of the company was far greater. That was what they were fighting to protect, keep, and have for themselves. To live, to truly live, was more than any god or man could ever find words to describe. It was more than could be comprehended. And if only the gods could see that¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of what¡¯s going to happen,¡± Kelsey stated.


    ¡°You should be,¡± Milo said. ¡°We all should be.¡±


    She gulped down her own lie. Between them, they both knew she was terrified. The stories circulating about scouts who came back, turned inside out, and tied to their horses, were the least gruesome. There was something about the people with visions, the way they spoke, that was like needles to the skin. They were unsettling at best. Kelsey pushed off the tree and turned back toward the barracks. She shook her head. ¡°I wish I knew what to do with myself. I feel like I¡¯m stuck in a shed again. Trapped with no way out.¡±


    ¡°Kelsey,¡± Milo grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. She turned to face him, sadness marring her expression for having turned the pleasant night into a dark dream of the horrors to come. ¡°I can¡¯t promise anything about what¡¯s going to happen when they arrive, if they come at all, but I¡¯ll always protect you.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she smiled, her cheeks rosier than usual. ¡°You always do.¡±


    He wanted to say something more, make sure she understood what he truly meant when he promised to come to her aid, but he couldn¡¯t find his voice. It was lost behind the rapid beating in his chest and the tension pulling through every muscle. He could practically hear <mark>Lukas</mark> screaming in his ear. And before he could mentally argue with his phantom fantasy of his friend, her hands grabbed his face and dragged him down into a weirdly rough and entirely soft kiss.


    Pulling back almost as fast as she¡¯d moved, she bit her lower lips and then shoved him back. ¡°Idiot,¡± she grumbled.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± he whispered, racing through his thoughts about what had happened and why. Was it obvious how he felt about her? Or had she felt this way about him, too? Oh, to hell with it, it didn¡¯t matter that much. And without another wasted thought, he pulled her back and kissed her in return. Soft, slow, and willful. There was no rush when tomorrow was forever away, and the moment they had was everlasting.

 Chapter 251 (Chapter 10 A Long Time Gone: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    Light had crested over the eastern ridge but the sun had yet to rise above the horizon. The sky was as red as Kelsey¡¯s hair, strew around his collar and half over his shoulder as he woke, slow to make sense of the early dawn. Milo sat up, rubbing his face and looking around the bunk. The women were lucky. They had private quarters, more or less. They had three other <mark>bunkmates</mark> in designated cubicles. The men shared a long hall. No matter, all the women were still asleep. He might have been too if he wasn¡¯t halfway through his third year and waking before dawn hadn¡¯t become part of his usual habit.


    He scooted the blanket aside, Kelsey <mark>unmoving</mark> despite the creak of the wooden bed frame. She was beautiful in her sleep, her face softer and her spirit gentle. Kelsey wasn¡¯t as hard or tough as she seemed. They¡¯d spent the better part of the night together, curled close and whispering between delicate slow kisses and <mark>wonderous</mark> little hums of joy amid restrained giggles. And to see her so happy made Milo¡¯s heart swell and soar. It wasn¡¯t often she smiled when scowling was easier. When her brother made certain she had a reason to be sour in the first place.


    Milo pulled on his boots, wondering if the reason she¡¯d taken to the barracks easier than he had, was because of her brother. They¡¯d never seen eye to eye on anything. Still, despite the thousand worries he had over her, she was one of the best. She scored almost as high as he did on most exams, and her healing ability was faster than some of the veterans who specialized in field medicine. Not that she had any interest in it. She wanted to lead the charge and earn her spot among the archers posted high on the wall.


    In an hour or two, she¡¯d be up and headed for breakfast. Meanwhile, he needed to hurry and get into place before <mark>Makler</mark> saw where he¡¯d come from. That was a conversation he didn¡¯t want any part of and would do almost anything to avoid. The Resistance had a strict policy about fraternizing with the opposite sex. And sneaking out of the women¡¯s barracks was a good way to catch more than an earful about those policies. Milo cringed at the thought, pushing the front door open and heading straight for the posts along the wall.


    He wasted no time with the cafeteria and grabbed a small box of food from the supply office. It wasn¡¯t half as bad as everyone made it out to be, but then again not everyone had to suffer through holidays with Brendan Filch and his dad¡¯s horrible casseroles. Milo peeled back the lid, chuckling to himself as he scooped up the cold vegetables. Brendan wasn¡¯t too bad of a soldier and was probably stronger from stomaching his dad¡¯s cooking all those years. And for all those years they were neighbors, it was a shame they never thought to send them meals.


    ¡°Sir,¡± a tall, broad man interrupted near the gate, ¡°we have night reports.¡±


    ¡°About what?¡± Milo asked around the lump of food stuffed in his cheek.


    ¡°Razen activity,¡± he frowned.


    ¡°Where are they?¡±


    ¡°Hours out, at most. We sighted them from the tower.¡±


    ¡°Start the rotation.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The man gave a salute and was on his way as fast as the wind.


    Milo choked down another spoonful of food and tossed the rest in the trash. He¡¯d waited so long for this moment, and yet it didn¡¯t seem entirely real. Even as the high bell rang, too soon for most, it felt like a drill. By the time he made it to his station point, his sword not fully positioned to his hip, and the quiver he¡¯d propped in the corner was steadily slipping down, the entire line of morning rotation soldiers went eerily silent. Milo looked down the line, then up, and then to the sky where everyone was staring.


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    White flakes, mingling with black and gray fell in slow twirls, drifting like feathers. Like snow. Sunrise had barely come and the fires were warming the air faster than daybreak. <mark>Lukas</mark> set a hand on Milo¡¯s shoulder and gave him a nod. Milo sucked in a breath and adjusted his sword, drawing it out. <mark>Lukas</mark> called down one end of the line and Brendan called up the other, shouting the orders to ready.


    ¡°Stay ready, they¡¯ll be here in an hour, at most,¡± Milo warned. <mark>Lukas</mark> and Brendan offered a nod and moved down to their respective stations. Milo looked back at the wall guarding Bethany. Somewhere amid its slitted windows, Kelsey was keeping watch over them. And <mark>Makler</mark> was nowhere to be seen.


    For an hour and a half, there was nothing. No movement in the field ahead to the north, no birds, no bells, no sounds from inside the walls. This was the first real command Milo had taken and the first real call he¡¯d made. And he was wrong. An hour? How optimistic. He slumped down in his wooden folding chair and tossed a hand through his short hair. It was already messy but the sweat from how close the fires were made it worse. Then it came, the first sound of the morning. And it sent the sort of chill up through his back that made him want to contort and turn himself away, covering his ears.


    It was creaking like wood twisting around itself and splintering as it wound too tight. Then came a wicked pop, crack!, and an explosion of fracturing trees sang out around them. His heart hadn¡¯t stopped but it felt like it did. Milo stared out across the field as the trees over the ridge of the hill withered into black thorny brambles. And despite all the noise, they all remained intact as their leaves browned and fell to the ground. They were dead. Every last one.


    Milo¡¯s eyes narrowed. He¡¯d never seen anything like it and hadn¡¯t heard any stories about such a thing either. Stepping out of his station onto the grass, he squinted through the sunlight at the dead forest. Something felt wrong. He stole a glance at his hands, burning and itching and tingling in the worst ways. The glow around them was spreading up his arms. With a quick shake, his sleeves fell down over his fingers, hiding the aura. But the taste of metal in his mouth was stronger than ever. Something was very wrong.


    Time was slowing. He looked at his men, the soldiers he commanded, and saw the youth in their faces. They were children, just like him, and they were standing on a battlefield with a year¡¯s worth of training on average. <mark>Makler</mark> had faith it was enough, but, in the dawning light of day, Milo wasn¡¯t as sure. As he wheeled his attention back around, daring to wander farther into the field, a shade rose among the trees and trickled down the hill. As it passed over the grass, the tall blades wilted and withered and turned to dust.


    Gasps filled the air as soldiers stumbled and staggered back, scrambling off the ground. They were ready for many things. Enemies with incredible abilities, archers, shields, cavalry, and all sorts of foot soldiers, but nothing had prepared them for this. For a shade to cast across the ground and kill everything it touched. If they had once believed they stood a chance, their hopes died there on the field with the grass. Then, like a dog on a leash, it stopped and pulled back. Breathless, Milo turned to <mark>Lukas</mark>. His friend stared out, fear painted over him and his hands trembling. He looked over, eyes as wide as saucers and his head shaking in a slow rhythmic sway.


    <mark>Lukas</mark>¡¯s mouth opened to say something but the words never came out, drowned by the cacophony of thunder, like war drums booming from the sky. The ground and air trembled in fear and the waves shook through Milo and <mark>Lukas</mark>, and every person lined up along the wall. Grabbing hold of the stone post to steady himself, Milo¡¯s brows furrowed and he snatched <mark>Lukas</mark> by the collar, dragging him in.


    ¡°Find Michael, and get him out of here,¡± he hissed under his breath.


    ¡°You want me to abandon my post?¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> whispered back.


    ¡°I want you to save my brother.¡± Milo stared into his dark eyes, not as a commanding officer, but as his friend. ¡°Please, I promised I¡¯d protect him. Get him out, and I¡¯ll come back for both of you.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> nodded. ¡°Don¡¯t die.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d take a miracle to kill me.¡± He smiled, but it was lost too soon as he looked back at the barren field. At the top of the hill amid the twisted trees, a line formed. Full of white uniforms and glittering sun medallions¡ªa mockery to the midnight they brought down on so many. Then, from behind the wall of wicked white and masks of shining gold, came horses and riders with accents of red. And there they stood like sentries, waiting for orders. Waiting for the world to start moving again.

 Chapter 252 (Chapter 11 Parting Ways: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

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    Milo hadn¡¯t meant to hold his breath, silently counting the horses lining from end to end, but by the time he realized he had been, they had begun to move. They marched out from the trees in a crescent, bulging at the center. It was an odd tactic, an old one, too. The middle horse raced across the field, leading the others like a spreading fire. Milo¡¯s skin lit like a match and he burned from the inside as he watched the beasts gallop toward them. They held the wall and timing was everything. If he called the order to charge too soon, the casualties would be immeasurable. And it would be worse if he called them too late.


    Without warning, the center horse reared up in the middle of the field. Milo stepped out onto the dirt and tightened his grip on his drawn sword. The horse steadied, and the rider met Milo¡¯s gaze. His eyes were as wicked as his beast, glowing gold and fierce as the inferno raging in his wake. He smiled and gestured for his other riders to move forward and meet him at the <mark>midline</mark>. They stopped, holding their position. Milo waited. No one stopped mid-charge unless they had something to say. Even still, stopping wasn¡¯t usually an option, or so he¡¯d read. But the Razen were different. Their leader was arrogant, proud, and impatient.


    When no one moved, and no one spoke, Milo stiffened and raised his sword signaling the archers above. The arrows filled the sky and rained down around the horses. They whinnied and neighed and fell to the ground with their riders. A hint of a smile sparked up on Milo¡¯s lips. What a stupid sacrifice. No sooner had the thought danced through his head in a singsong jubilation, than the horse raised their heads. One by one, they stood, untouched by the arrows. Milo looked back at his men. The riders were off their horses and were outnumbered five to one. They weren¡¯t lightly guarded and the fool leader in the middle of the field had greatly underestimated them.


    Giving a shout to <mark>Lukas</mark> and Brendan, the order was given for the soldiers to hold their ground. Nervous and shaking, they came out of their shelters and prepared themselves for battle. Milo was the first to move, bold as he started out across the field but came to an abrupt halt as the ground began to move. Twisting around, the riders changed. Their bodies crackled and snapped as they elongated and rose up with wide snapping jaws. The loud crashes like steel traps echoed from every direction.


    <div>


    <div>


    ¡°Take the wall!¡± The man on the horse called, unbothered by the advancing Resistance soldiers. He smiled to himself as the serpent-bodied unit slithered through the front line, throwing aside anyone who stood in their way. Killing them wasn¡¯t necessary, but the wall had to come down. He looked up as the sky darkened again. Arrows like a heavy rain cloud blotted out the daylight. He turned away, leaning to the side as a woman appeared behind his horse and climbed atop its rear. Holding her hands over them, a dome flashed and descended to the ground. The arrows <mark>plinked</mark> against it and fell in death clatter at the horse''s feet. She looked at him with a smile. ¡°Not everyone moves as fast as I do. You should thank me once in a while, Callan.¡±


    ¡°You should learn to make bigger shields, Makar.¡± He nudged at her side.


    ¡°Makaria,¡± she corrected. ¡°And if what I did was shield, then I would not be doing so good with what I do best.¡±


    ¡°And what exactly is that?¡± He eyed her. Though she¡¯d been with him and the other Horsemen for eons, he¡¯d never gotten a firm grasp on what Makar, or Makaria, did. She moved faster than anyone else and was a masterful assassin, and she was called the last witch of her world, but it didn¡¯t explain how she moved or how she made herself invisible. The shields were a new trick. It seemed almost everyone had something new to offer in this world. It was a shame to have to burn it down.


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    ¡°Never mind what I do, you should pay attention to what you do.¡± Makaria nodded forward as the shield dissolved into ripples of air. ¡°You have a small angry challenger.¡±


    Callan looked out across the field and met the glare of the boy standing across from him. The rocks of the walls cascaded down behind him as the snakes burrowed through. His men, his soldiers, ran for cover. The lot of them cowardice in their fear. But this boy didn¡¯t run. His green eyes twinkled with defiance. He was different from the others, but would die the same way.


    <div>


    Milo¡¯s fist tightened around his sword as he steadied his breath. If he looked back, he would see the damage already done and the bodies of those who¡¯d crossed the snake soldiers. He couldn¡¯t move, and every fiber of his being screamed at him to take one step. To charge forward. To fight the man leading them. But when the ground shook again, he turned away. The wall erupted as a beast twice as tall ripped through it as if it were nothing. A <mark>Wyrm</mark>, clad in shining armor, slammed against the towers and yanked back the walls of the gate until all that remained was a gaping hole.


    He didn¡¯t remember running for cover, or when he¡¯d come to hide with shaking guards, but there he was on the verge of vomiting up his guts in terror. Real terror. <mark>Makler</mark> told him to be afraid, and he wasn¡¯t until right then. People were dead. So many people¡¯s lives were gone and he couldn¡¯t stop it. He never stood a chance. Milo turned and looked over the edge of the shelter wall. The man in the middle of the field dismounted. He looked around and found Milo. His brow pressed in and his nose wrinkled. The scowl on his face burned into him. It was anger and disappointment to have seen him run. Milo ducked down, holding tight to his sword.


    ¡°We can¡¯t stay here forever,¡± he whispered to himself.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡± someone shouted.


    Twisting around, Milo pulled himself up and watched as the man, their leader, called out orders to take the wall. Take the city. And take no prisoner. The line of white-robed soldiers descended over the hill, rushing at full speed. The ground vibrated under their weight and their arrows soared out, flaming as they passed overhead. The wall guards, crying and praying to silent gods who¡¯d long left their world, crawled back and hid in the crumbling safety of their meager shelter.


    There were thousands of thousands, a sea of soldiers, unlike anything Milo had seen all the time he¡¯d trained in the town and outside of it in the exterior camps. He looked back at the wall. It was gone. The Razen were coming to flood the town and kill everyone. Man, woman, and child. Milo winced, they weren¡¯t ready. There was no way they ever could have been. No wonder the Resistance had never saved a town before. How could they?


    As the torrent of soldiers spilled across the field, a red horse came from nowhere and dashed toward the leader. Milo stared in awe as the man turned his back to the beast and before he made sense of what he¡¯d done, he was mounted on it. His sword rose as he called out to his Razen in a glorious battle cry. The air crackled and snapped, and a boom of thunder raced out around him. As the horse charged forward, flames kicked up around it, igniting the field. Milo jumped to his feet, raising his sword as the hoards funneled. They were in. Bethany would fall, but they weren¡¯t going down without a fight.


    Milo turned back to <mark>Lukas</mark>. ¡°Find Michael. Get him out.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He nodded.


    ¡°<mark>Lukas</mark>,¡± he breathed, unsure if he could find the right words.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll get him out.¡± He forced a smile.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯ve got my back, Milo. Just don¡¯t get yourself killed. Kelsey will kill me if you do.¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> set a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll stay alive till the end.¡±


    ¡°I will, I promise,¡± Milo forced the words out.


    ¡°Good,¡± he nodded. ¡°Now give them the fight they came for.¡±


    Milo chuckled, lowering his head. <mark>Lukas</mark> would have made a great leader if he had been a little smarter and hadn¡¯t had to take the entrance exams three times. ¡°That¡¯s my line.¡±


    ¡°Not today,¡± <mark>Lukas</mark> laughed as another explosion rang. He looked skyward as the debris clattered against the small wooden roof. ¡°And that¡¯s my cue to go.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon.¡± Milo grabbed hold of him, hugging him tight and wishing he didn¡¯t ever have to let go. <mark>Lukas</mark> pulled back first and slapped a hand against Milo¡¯s arm. There was nothing left to say, and as they parted they carried the hope of finding one another again with them.

 Chapter 253 (Chapter 12 The Day Tomorrow Forgot: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    What remained of the staircase, shattered stone and broken steps, turned left and then right at tight angles with gaps in the walls and floor. Treacherous and abrupt. Milo stepped back a few paces and then raced forward, leaping over the hole and slamming his shoulder against the wall. He winced and grabbed his arm. Of all the bad luck, it was his dominant side. The clang of metal and hurried footsteps filled the corridor as he sucked in one sharp breath after another, trying to catch his breath. It was no use. Nothing was slowing the spin of chaos in his head.


    He had to focus on something else; put himself far from the fighting, the noise, the calamity of combat. He hissed through his teeth and stared up at the ceiling. There was somewhere else he could go. There was a diner on a hot summer evening when crickets first came out and the sun was setting behind the trees when the heat of the day was melting every <mark>popsicle</mark> and ice cream he¡¯d had to keep cool. Colorful twinkling Christmas lights never meant to blink the way they did, stuck to the walls were the most beautiful sight after sweating in the fields from training. And Michael sat in a booth staring at the menu, alone but content, contemplating if he¡¯d rather have seasoned fries or plain for dipping in his milkshake. And he¡¯d look up with his bright eyes, the same emerald as their father, and smile as if he¡¯d not seen Milo in years.


    Michael. He was the reason to push on. If he didn¡¯t get moving, he couldn¡¯t protect him. Milo shoved off the wall, his arm stinging as he hurried up the next flight and tried to keep his faith in <mark>Lukas</mark>. He wasn¡¯t the fastest runner, but he was observant and his reaction time was better than anyone else. He could avoid the Razen and dodge the soldiers coming in as backup. Cavalry? No. They weren¡¯t coming as anything. It was everyone against everyone. The whole thing was a disorganized mess. <mark>Makler</mark> was a king among men, but his strategy for fighting depended heavily on directed brute force. A solid punch to the center line wasn¡¯t enough. But sharp jabs to the sides worked wonders. The flanks would collapse in no time and they¡¯d funnel the rest into a nice kill zone.


    Or at least that was the plan on paper. As Milo skidded around the next corner, blasts rocking the watchtower, he knew that¡¯s all it was: good on paper. <mark>Makler</mark> was a scholar hidden behind the hard lines of war paint and a personal vendetta, a wedding band for a tombstone of what he¡¯d lost. Love, a life, and a chance to have made himself more useful. Milo stopped at the door. It was still shut. On the other side were the archers. Kelsey. And if the door had yet to be breached, she was safe. He checked over his shoulder and grabbed the handle. For a moment, he wasn¡¯t sure what he was doing. He couldn¡¯t prioritize his own interests over the fate of everyone he was supposed to be leading. Never mind, the archers were as much his as the men on the ground. He shoved the door open.


    Heads turned, checking with wide eyes to make sure it wasn¡¯t an enemy. Milo puffed his chest and marched down the hall as though his arm didn¡¯t hurt and he had the situation under control. ¡°Aim for the second and third lines. The infantry will handle the Viper Corps and the first line. Watch the left flank. They¡¯re coming over flat land and don¡¯t have the same force as the right. We can cut them off with the fire arrows.¡±


    ¡°Sir, the walls are thinning,¡± an officer stated, drawing back an arrow.


    ¡°Stay as long as possible, head south, and make a corridor for the first line to funnel.¡±


    ¡°Bottleneck them? Sir, how¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lead them in.¡± Milo turned and looked at the officer, hoping he could understand. But, instead, found the same confused horror swimming in his eyes as had been in Milo¡¯s stomach since the wall cracked and the <mark>Wyrm</mark> beast had broken through. Where it¡¯d disappeared to was a mystery and far from his concern. They couldn¡¯t fight what they couldn¡¯t find. Surviving, and taking down as many Razen as they could, was all they had left.


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The officer gave a sharp nod and called the order down the line.


    Milo continued on his way, keeping stiff and his jaw locked tight to stave off the piercing pain. He¡¯d hit his shoulder harder than he¡¯d realized. Breathing hurt. As he came to the end of the row, to the door on the opposite side, he stopped and grabbed the post, steadying himself.


    ¡°Kelsey,¡± he rasped.


    ¡°Sir,¡± she spun on her toes and her shoulders dropped, lowering her bow. ¡°Milo!¡±


    ¡°You have to get out of here.¡±


    ¡°What happened to your arm?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a terrible liar. The least you can do is look me in the eye when you feed me a line of it. Honestly,¡± she grabbed hold of him, slipping under his arm, and hauled him toward the door, ¡°if you just believe something true enough, not even wholly, it¡¯s harder for people to know if you¡¯re lying or not. And in a way, you¡¯re not lying at all. You¡¯re telling the truth selectively, with creative detailing.¡±


    ¡°Now¡¯s not the time for this,¡± he groaned and they made their way down the external stairs leading back into town. ¡°If we don¡¯t get out of here, we¡¯re dead.¡±


    Kelsey stopped and looked up at him. ¡°And if we leave everyone, they¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Milo winced, shifting his weight to look back. The shouts and hollers of soldiers were closer. ¡°I can¡¯t save everyone¡­¡±


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    ¡°It would be one hell of a miracle if you could, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    Milo whipped around, his eyebrows furrowing. His mouth dangled open, both offended and confused by what she meant, and gabbed as he looked for words.


    ¡°Get over it.¡± She rolled her eyes and led him toward a boarded-up building. ¡°You think everyone with an ability can use it? I¡¯ve heard stories about healers who couldn¡¯t fix more than a paper cut until they met with a proper whisperer. We¡¯ve never been lucky enough to have one of any worth here. How could you possibly expect to¡ª¡±


    Milo sat down against the wall, ¡°<mark>Makler</mark> doesn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I never told him.¡±


    ¡°Milo¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better if he doesn¡¯t. What¡¯s the point if I can¡¯t use it for anything that matters?¡±


    ¡°He could have helped you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he ducked as an arrow zipped by. ¡°And to be honest, I don¡¯t think he could have. Kelsey,¡± Milo grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside him. For a long, breathless moment, he stared at her, marveling at the sun reflecting in her dark amber eyes. And the way her skin glowed and her hair was messy and tangled; perfect in its imperfection. The dots of freckles on her face were a constellation, he knew in the heavy thump of his sinking heart, he would never have a chance to map out. His gaze lowered and his hands trembled with a fear he didn¡¯t recognize. ¡°<mark>Makler</mark> knew this was going to happen. He¡¯s never saved a town before.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she gaped, searching Milo¡¯s face for more of an explanation. ¡°No, he¡¯s-he¡¯s-he¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t win here, not today.¡± His face hardened as he looked back at the raging battle behind them. Too many would die. And Bethany would fall. ¡°We just have to get out.¡± He turned back to her, taking her hands. ¡°You have to get out. <mark>Lukas</mark> went for Michael. He¡¯s taking him to the southern wall. Go find them. And I¡¯ll find you. I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡±


    She nodded, frantic as she tried to catch her breath. All the hell and fighting around them was inescapable from the start. Kelsey gulped down hard and grabbed Milo¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Here, let me fix this. You can¡¯t cover me with a bum shoulder.¡±


    Milo shut his eyes, grinding his teeth as her hands smoothed over his arm and up to his neck. It wasn¡¯t a painful feeling, but it wasn¡¯t pleasant either. It was like a thousand cold needles pricking over his skin and, before the groan building in his throat could escape, it was over. Kelsey jumped to her feet and readied her bow. Sure, she¡¯d run, but she wouldn¡¯t go without a fight either. Skirting around the backside of the building, she was on her way down the road before Milo could thank her for healing him.


    It was better if he put her out of his mind, trusting her speed and ability as an archer. She¡¯d make it. She¡¯d survive, and he¡¯d find her again later. There wasn¡¯t time to dwell on what could happen when there was so much happening. He took his sword, checked its weight, and headed into the throngs of soldiers killing friends and foes alike. It was beautiful and terrible. Everywhere he looked, people were twisting and turning and reaching and grabbing like glorious paintings he¡¯d seen in old books. The red of their blood was like roses bursting in the air, and the smell of iron filled his nose and pooled in his mouth. And all his body turned alight, a flame in the cold dark.


    Ahead of him, horses charged in, the riders donning their gold masks. One, a shorter man with messy hair, jumped down and threw his hands against anyone he found. In a bright flash of light, their breath left them and they fell to the ground. Their bodies contorted, dead in a way Milo wished he hadn¡¯t seen. Soon behind the man, a woman with thick braids dropped down. She laughed as she swung her blade and grabbed her enemies by the arms, dragging them in and head-butting them to the ground. She paused only when the smaller man gave her a sharp whistle. Her attention turned to the bloody mess of dead around her feet, and she held out her hands at them. One by one, they untwisted and rose like puppets. They marched forward, swinging madly and barely in control of themselves.


    There was no fighting them. They were dead, meat shields at most. Milo dodged around them, sliding on the side of his foot and spinning around with his sword out as he cut through the crowd. He was the leader. He had to get to the next tower and give the orders to retreat. And with every spray of blood across his face, staining his hair and clothes alike, he fought his way closer. He couldn¡¯t save them all, but he could save more than <mark>Makler</mark> would. He could be the leader they needed.


    As he barreled over the broken stones of the wall, he skidded to a stop. <mark>Lukas</mark> slid down the side of the hill, unscathed but sweating like a pig. He ran to Milo, grabbed his arms, and shouted over the noise, ¡°He¡¯s out! I got him out! But they¡¯re coming down the outer walls. They¡¯re surrounding us. If we don¡¯t go now, we¡¯ll never¡ª¡±


    His words fell short in a sharp gasp. Milo stumbled back, his weight heavier than he¡¯d ever expected, as <mark>Lukas</mark> fell forward. His back bled down his pants and he gasped, quivering, and his fingers curled into Milo¡¯s shirt. Faltering another step back, he brought him to the ground as carefully as possible. Shaking his hands, he cursed to himself. Of all the times he could use a miracle, it was right now. But no, there was no miracle to be had.


    ¡°<mark>Lukas</mark>, stay with me,¡± he breathed, searching wildly for anything he could use to stop the bleeding, ¡°just stay with me.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he whimpered, ¡°please, Milo, you promised¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± Milo turned on his knees, ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t let them take me,¡± tears ran down his cheek and off his nose. ¡°I don¡¯t want to become a Razen. I don¡¯t want to¡­¡± he cried, gripping the ground, unable to lift up.


    Milo turned away and shut his eyes tight, refusing, and yet his hands heated in a too-familiar way. The glow spread from his fingertips to his elbows and flooded over him. It¡¯d never been this strong before. And when he turned back to <mark>Lukas</mark>, he mouthed a thin apology. There was no time to save him, and they wouldn¡¯t escape together.


    A long narrow sword formed from the light, as if from nothing. Milo choked on a cry he wouldn¡¯t let <mark>Lukas</mark> see and ran the blade clean through his back like a hot knife through soft butter. He didn¡¯t gasp or cough, he simply stopped. <mark>Lukas</mark> was still. Milo fell to his knees beside him and the tears ran freely in thick rivers as he curled into a ball, his forehead to the ground. What had he done?


    ¡°Grab the kid!¡± someone shouted.


    Milo¡¯s eyes popped wide and all his tears dried in an instant. Before he could think twice about who they meant, he was on his feet and the blade he¡¯d brought was tight in his glowing gold grip. In his ears rang a song he¡¯d heard too many times in his dreams, and whispered to him when he least expected it. It was a voice he¡¯d carried with him since the day he was born, and it hadn¡¯t ever called to him the way it did now. It screamed and cried out and he knew he could do it. One hell of a miracle, that¡¯s all he needed.

 Chapter 254 (Chapter 13 In the Face of War: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    How he¡¯d made it to the thick of battle and carved out a pocket for himself was something he¡¯d never be able to explain. Maybe it was a matter of skill, or maybe it was one little miracle after another. Regardless of how he¡¯d made it to where he was, he¡¯d made it there all the same. And the bodies he stood on, a mound of corpses like a throne, were keeping him at the advantage. Anyone who charged at him had to traverse over the slippery bodies below.


    Worse than the gore and death beneath his feet was the fire closing in around him. The cries of horses and the crack of buildings collapsing muted the futile screams of the soldiers who¡¯d never leave the town again. Milo swung his sword, round and round as he gnashed his teeth in a fury of rage and madness. The sky was fast turning black and his lungs were burning, but his arms wouldn¡¯t relent. He couldn¡¯t stop fighting after he told everyone else to retreat. He had to give them a chance to escape, to live, if only for a little while. It was more than he could give <mark>Lukas</mark>.


    He wanted to give up, to break down and fall and cry. He wanted to mourn, but it would have to wait. And if he was lucky enough to escape with the few fortunate he¡¯d saved, he¡¯d find <mark>Makler</mark> and either spit on his grave or kill him himself. The bastard! He knew what was coming! And maybe it was Milo¡¯s fault for not understanding, but <mark>Makler</mark> should have known. He was a kid, barely sixteen, and hadn¡¯t seen a day of real combat until now. How could he, let alone anyone else, have known what was coming?


    Who was coming¡­


    War.


    Milo turned as a silver horse charged by. <mark>Makler</mark> had deceived them all and conveniently was nowhere to be found. The coward. No wonder he¡¯d lived so long. He stood in the battles he knew he could win, and built up a reputation, but turned tail and never faced the wrath of Conquest and War. Milo wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d ever seen it at all. Anger burned through him, setting his radiant glow brighter as it reached in vibrant beaming tendrils in every direction. Walls of trees and shrubs broke through the ground as if summoned, and insects swarmed in a cloud around anyone too close. He swung wildly as soldiers charged at him, and a scream ripped through his throat like a vicious roar.


    There was no stopping them. They were already in. The walls were burning, and the dead were too many to count. And the more he fought, the faster the world began to spin. His head was dizzy in the chaos, and he couldn¡¯t find which way was up and which was down. It didn¡¯t matter. None of it mattered. He just had to kill one more, distract one more, and maybe a few more people would live. Humanity would survive a little longer. He lurched forward, breathless, and his vision blurring in a hazy storm of glitter. He couldn¡¯t keep going¡­


    And then it stopped. Silence fell over him, and he was drifting in the wind. He¡¯d never felt so light. It was like a dream, tumbling through the vast sky and bathed in the glorious gold rays of the sun. He could hear the music of loud trumpets blaring around him and the delicate plucking of a harp. It was unlike anything he¡¯d known in his short life, but he felt at ease listening, enjoying the song for what it was as it enveloped him. But the bliss didn¡¯t last.


    Without warning, his body was heavy again. He gasped and shot up, his eyes filling with the faint light of an incandescent bulb hanging in the middle of the room. He gasped and rolled to his side. Where was he? Every part of his body ached as if they¡¯d dragged him behind a horse for miles. He leaned over and vomited on the floor. He wiped the corner of his mouth and pulled himself back, reaching over his side in search of his sword.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± a man said, stepping closer from the other side of the room. Milo squinted, adjusting to the light and the way his head was still spinning. ¡°You know, for a minute I was worried you weren¡¯t going to wake up at all.¡±


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    ¡°What?¡± His voice came out sounding more hoarse than he¡¯d expected.


    The man <mark>kneeled</mark> in front of him. The scent of smoke and cinnamon and something Milo couldn¡¯t pin wafted from him and made his skin crawl. Every part of him, beyond explanation, hated this man. The man, though, smiled pleasantly. His gold eyes twinkled and his bright copper hair shone with radiance despite the dim light. ¡°What¡¯s your name, kiddo?¡±


    Milo¡¯s nose wrinkled, and he curled back, reaching for his boot. It was an old trick <mark>Lukas</mark> used when they were out hunting together, and for once, it came in handy. He plucked the knife from where he¡¯d tucked it alongside his ankle and flicked it open. In a swift throw of his arm, he drove it into the man¡¯s neck, sending him back with a pained groan. Milo winced and leaned forward. His ribs ached and the single swing was almost too much.


    ¡°You little fucker!¡± he hissed, clambering back.


    Another voice chuckled from along the wall. His lips twisted in a serpentine grin. ¡°I¡¯ll have to remember that trick.¡±


    The other man staggered to his feet, ripping the blade from his neck and tossing it on the table. ¡°Take the knife if you want it.¡±


    ¡°Really? It¡¯s iron. It¡¯s worthless.¡±


    ¡°Take it!¡± He snapped, ¡°Since you didn¡¯t take it the first time before you brought him down here.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my job to check him.¡± The tall blond man frowned as if offended. ¡°You¡¯ll have to take that up with Asherah. I had other things to do.¡±


    Callan pinched the bridge of his nose and turned around. He marched back toward Milo and grabbed the sliding door. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, kid. I hate this as much as you do.¡± He pulled the bars shut and locked them in place. ¡°We don¡¯t take prisoner. You¡¯re just an unfortunate exception.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Milo coughed out as he gripped his chest.


    Callan stared at him, looked him over, and then turned back to his companion. ¡°He needs a healer.¡±


    ¡°Then get a healer.¡±


    ¡°Charon,¡± he warned.


    ¡°Callan,¡± he smirked. But when Callan glowered, he rolled his eyes, huffed, and headed out. The door, beyond anywhere Milo could see, creaked and then clapped shut.


    ¡°He¡¯s lucky I like him,¡± Callan sighed. He stared at Milo, thoughts flashing over his face as he reached up and rubbed at the wound on his neck as it healed unnaturally fast. A heavy pit fell through Milo¡¯s stomach. He didn¡¯t have to say who he was. He already knew. This wasn¡¯t a Razen soldier. This was their leader, a Horseman. A god. War.


    Milo crumpled forward again with a groan. He wasn¡¯t sure when he¡¯d taken the beating of a lifetime, but he was certain every rib was laden with heavy bruises or broken into shattered bits. He coughed and spit on the floor, fighting through the pain. Milo gasped between sharp shocks. He couldn¡¯t think straight if he tried. He ground his teeth together, trying to make sense of what happened.


    ¡°Where the hell am I!¡± he shouted at the floor.


    ¡°<mark>Ayden</mark>,¡± Callan said flatly.


    Milo stared at the stones below him, damp from the ground beneath. <mark>Ayden</mark> was almost ten hours northeast of Bethany and was among the few cities he remembered, and it fell a long time ago. Sweat trickled down his temples and clung to his wavy locks. They¡¯d taken him to a city, but why? It wasn¡¯t as if they were using it for much more than supplies. Everyone knew that. Not that they could do anything about it, but the Resistance had known for at least a decade.


    ¡°I like Charon,¡± Callan reaffirmed, ¡°but I don¡¯t like you.¡±


    Milo looked up at him, his gaze darkening as their eyes met. No, they didn¡¯t like each other. They hated each other. A grin pulled on Milo¡¯s lips as his body trembled in pain. ¡°I¡¯m going to kill you.¡±


    Callan smiled and leaned against the bars. ¡°You killed a lot of my soldiers. You¡¯re talented, I¡¯ll give you that, boy. But you won¡¯t kill me. Not today, and not any tomorrow you think you have.¡±


    He straightened up and headed back for the door. Milo shifted to protest, but what little he had left in him drained away and he collapsed against the hard wooden cot. He panted as his vision darkened and the memories of <mark>Lukas</mark> and Kelsey and Michael, his dad and his mom, and Brendan Filch, and all the other people he was sure were either dead or thought he was, raced back and haunted him like a bad dream. He wanted to cry, and his heart squeezed tight in his chest, but not a single tear came out. Bethany had fallen, and everything he¡¯d ever known was gone. He couldn¡¯t change anything, and the only choice he had left was to live.

 Chapter 255 (Chapter 14 Captive: The Garden, prequel & companion novel)

    He¡¯d been awake for hours, dozing when he could, simply lying still when he couldn¡¯t, and hoping for the best. The best, however, was death. He wasn¡¯t so much in the care of the gods as he was the rats. They brought him bits of stale food. The gods, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten him. No surprise, though, he reasoned. There had never been a single one who¡¯d interested themselves in the better welfare of a mortal. Every story he¡¯d read of gods from peoples across the world reflected their disregard in the name of good intentions. And the road to hell was paved with them. Maybe that was why mortals went where they did when they died.


    Some called it hell. Others called it the afterlife, <mark>Sho¡¯el</mark>, <mark>Tartarus</mark>, <mark>Yomi</mark>, the underworld, <mark>Tlalocan</mark>, <mark>Mictlan</mark>, or the Beginning After. Milo, though, thought the idea of some torturous post-life realm was absurd. Life was hell enough. Whatever waited on the other side, waited in the splendor of peace. It was a heaven he couldn¡¯t reach, not one meant for him because he could never be good enough to deserve it, and that was the reason he¡¯d lived. He tucked his hands tighter under his arms and struggled to breathe for the hundredth time, pushing away <mark>Lukas¡¯s</mark> cries. He did what he asked, and promised to do, but it didn¡¯t save him. And now he couldn¡¯t get his voice out of his head.


    ¡°Teddy¡¯s been a lot more fun than George. He was all bark and no bite,¡± Callan said, pulling the chair out from the table and sitting down. It¡¯d been days since he¡¯d returned, and not a single person had visited between, aside from the healer.


    It was only a few hours after Callan and his lackey had left when the door swung open and a tall, thin woman wandered in as if she were lost. She squinted and pulled the glasses off the top of her head, long frazzled strings of strawberry blond hair tangled and sagged as they caught on the corners of her frames. She smiled when spotted him and danced her way over to his holding cell. But her friendly mien faded. Her eyes drew round and her mouth dangled open. For longer than polite, she stared at him, unable to make sense of what she saw. It was as though she¡¯d never seen a prisoner in her life, and certainly not one as young as himself. Barely a man at all. And her discomfort was clear as day as she made short work of healing him, doing enough only to make him comfortable. Or as comfortable as he could be under the circumstances. But it was the way she¡¯d looked at Milo as if something about him unsettled her, that was eating at him more so than his hungry stomach and the irritation of listening to the endless banter of his captors.


    ¡°I¡¯m getting bored.¡± She strolled across the room, dragging her fingers over the table. ¡°How many times have we found where that fox, <mark>Makler</mark>, is hiding and we waste another opportunity burning only one hole in his den?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to take all the fun out of it.¡± He chuckled as he poured himself a drink.


    ¡°Fun? It¡¯s been over a decade and a half. Where are you going with all this? It¡¯s not like there are any interesting mortals here. We have to job to do, Callan.¡±


    ¡°I know, and it¡¯s just become interesting.¡± The ice in his glass clinked against the sides as he made a broad gesture toward the cell opposite of him. ¡°We have someone new to play with.¡±


    She folded her arms and shook her head while he dangled the glass of dark liquor from his fingertips. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.,¡± she groaned, and in turn, he snorted as if he found her response something comical. He took a drink, and she frowned. She shook her head, sending waves through her long silver hair. ¡°But he¡¯s a child.¡±


    ¡°A child that killed a lot of my soldiers, darling,¡± he corrected, almost proud of what Milo had accomplished. ¡°He¡¯s exceptional and you know it. That¡¯s why you went back for him.¡± He pointed at her as if proving his point and took another sip of his drink.


    ¡°He¡¯s different from the others,¡± the woman said, softer than before. She glanced at Milo¡¯s cell, where he¡¯d been lying still under a blanket for hours. His breathing was slow, and she let out a low-hummed groan, unsure if he was asleep or not. She tapped her toes, trying to make up her mind about him, and turned back to her partner, throwing her hands to her sides. ¡°He deserves an easy life, Callan. He¡¯s just a boy. Can¡¯t we put him in a nursery town? He¡¯s so young and should have never been on the front lines like that. What were they thinking?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°A boy?¡± Callan raised his eyebrows as she paced the room. ¡°He¡¯s sixteen or seventeen, give or take a year or two, and can wield a sword better than a lot of my own. He can decide for himself what he wants to do and where he goes. We don¡¯t take prisoners.¡±


    In the cell, Milo shifted, turning over and then sitting himself up. What a beautiful lie they told themselves. He hoped they slept better at night when they said it enough times. They didn¡¯t take prisoners. Then what was he? Their pet? He pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders and drew his knees to his chest. As much as he wanted to give up, curl into a ball, and die like everyone else he knew and loved, he couldn¡¯t and had to live. He had no choice. And living without them, their memories fading to ash, was almost more painful than dying in battle in the first place.


    The woman, small, petite, and shining like a silver star, walked over and peered through the bars. Her soft fingers wrapped around the cold metal as she peered in and tilted her head to the side. The gentle smile on her lips made her seem kinder than the wicked glint flickering in her eyes. She looked him up and down, admiring him like a mother to a child. Her lips pressed into a satisfied line as she relaxed, her hand resting against the bar and the other sweeping her long hair over her shoulder. Asherah, the only woman among the Horseman, was a queen of kings. A god not to be underestimated by her appearance. She was Conquest, and no mortal could refuse her call to submit.


    ¡°How are you feeling, sweetie?¡±


    ¡°Leave me alone,¡± Milo grumbled and brought the blanket up to his eyes.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re uncomfortable in there. It¡¯s just,¡± she glanced back to Callan, ¡°we need to figure out what to do with you. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± he spat and turned away. She could charm her will on anyone else, but not him. He would never fall to his knees for her unless she forced him there, forced him to her whim. Even so, he wouldn¡¯t give her the pleasure of thinking she mattered. She didn¡¯t. She was a wretched god who¡¯d come and ruined the little bits of good left in his world.


    ¡°Milo Stillwater.¡± Callan provided from where he sat at the table, tapping a file folder and setting his glass aside.


    ¡°Milo?¡± Asherah leaned on the bars to get a better look at him as he hunched forward in defeat. ¡°That¡¯s a nice name. Are you hungry, sweetheart? You¡¯ve been in here for hours.¡±


    He shrugged. What did they care if he was hungry? It¡¯d been days. They could have fed him and they didn¡¯t, and as far as he could tell, they only thought to feed him when they found it convenient.


    ¡°We don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡± She lowered her voice, reassuring him of their faux benevolence.


    ¡°I want to hurt him,¡± Callan chided.


    ¡°Stop it,¡± she hissed over her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re just pissed off because he stabbed you the first time he woke up. How was I supposed to know he had another knife on him?¡±


    ¡°In the neck, Asherah. He stabbed me in the neck,¡± he clarified.


    ¡°And you healed.¡± She glared at him, making clear his complaints had fallen on deaf ears. ¡°We¡¯re not arguing about this in front of the kid.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a kid!¡± Milo snapped around, fury blazing in his eyes like gold flecks of dawn¡¯s first light. He¡¯d had more than enough of their patronizing. Of anyone he¡¯d stood among, he was more a man than most. Too many had run away crying like children in the night at the first real fight for their lives. And they¡¯d died sobbing. Not him, though. He¡¯d taken all the fear pouring from his spirit and made it his armor. He¡¯d made it his reason to live, to fight, and he was more a man than a child for it.


    ¡°I agree,¡± Callan raised his glass to him. A smile snuck into the corners of his lips. ¡°You¡¯re not.¡±


    Milo looked at him, bewildered. It was the first, last, and only time he¡¯d ever, and would ever, agree with Callan on anything. He was no child and didn¡¯t deserve to be treated as one. His gaze shifted back to Asherah. Her sympathetic facade, as though he mattered to her, stirred the burning of hate¡¯s flames inside his heart. Though he knew she had not killed <mark>Lukas</mark>, and she had not made the wall collapse on his soldiers, and she had not sent him into a frenzy of fear and fight, he couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of her influence over it. She led them and didn¡¯t care what came of those who survived. She was cruel and barbaric, and it showed in her eyes. All the horrible things he¡¯d survived were a reflection of her. And there he sat, a soldier full of rage and terror, the only one she¡¯d thought not to kill.